


call me home

by bloomsoftly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Darcy Lewis-centric, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-10 23:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsoftly/pseuds/bloomsoftly
Summary: Taken as a political hostage to ensure her kingdom's good behavior after Thanos' brutal takeover of the Nine Realms, Lady Darcy finds herself caught in a web of uncertainty, deceit, and betrayal.Her only lights in the darkness are James, a kind but mysterious cook in the castle's kitchens, and Steve, an imprisoned rebel captain. But in a place where every word is a lie and friendship goes hand in hand with betrayal, can she truly afford to trust them?





	1. Witness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zephrbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephrbabe/gifts).



> For once, I've got a complete draft of this story already written! It'll be 5 chapters in total, and around 22k words (assuming I don't need to make major, story-changing edits).
> 
> All I have to do is edit the chapters before I post them, so it should go up fairly quickly.
> 
> i poured my heart into this one, so i hope you like it.

“Hello, little fairy.”  
  
Darcy’s shoulders stiffened. Her eyes snapped open to stare unseeing into the distance, but otherwise she didn't move. Anything further would be taken as a sign of weakness, a signal to the predator lurking at her back that her prey was ready to flee. And Darcy desperately did not want Proxima Midnight to pounce.   
  
“Lady Midnight. Good afternoon.”  
  
“Yes, I daresay it is. I suppose you couldn't resist the sunshine, could you, little girl?” The way she spat the word _sunshine_ made it sound like a curse, and perhaps to a member of the Black Order it was. To Darcy’s people, sunshine was life and purpose and sustenance for the soul, all at once. They thrived on it, needed it to survive.   
  
“No, my lady,” she responded demurely, dropping her eyes to her lap. From the corner of her eye, she tried to gauge whether she'd be able to escape with a timely excuse. But the other woman had placed herself squarely in front of the only entrance to the garden. Darcy was well and truly trapped, and Proxima was watching her like a hawk. The woman had clearly sought her out on purpose, which never boded well for Darcy. Internally she cursed herself for her weakness, for following the lure of the sun and allowing herself to be caught in such a vulnerable position. “The sun is important to my people.”  
  
“Your people,” Proxima spat, “your kingdom is here, _Lady_ Darcy. You'd do best to remember that. It is only by the grace of King Thanos that you still live.”  
  
“Of course, Lady Midnight.” The woman spoke a version of the truth, after all, and it wasn't worth fighting over in any case.   
  
“Tell me, are you heartsick for home?” the other woman suddenly asked, her face twisted into a mockery of a friendly smile. “For the Enchanted Kingdom, I mean. Do you wish to return to your homeland?”  
  
The answer was _yes_ , and they both knew it. Darcy certainly wasn't a willing guest in the palace—she wasn't a guest at all, but a prisoner trussed up in a fancy gown and collared with an invisible leash. But she'd be dead before the words even left her mouth, should she admit to it.   
  
Her head would be shipped back to her father as a warning against further rebellion, in word or deed, and all her sacrifices would have been for nothing. All her kingdom’s sacrifices, their struggle to survive in the wake of such a bloody insurrection, would be in vain. Darcy could not tell the truth, not if she wanted to honor her family, her people, her _homeland_.   
  
It was equally clear that the woman hoped to catch her in a lie, however, and Darcy was determined not to give her the satisfaction. Proxima liked to seek her out because Darcy was small and feminine and considered an easy target, and because she'd yet to learn that the younger woman was as clever and quick-witted as any of Thanos’ lieutenants.   
  
“I am grateful for King Thanos’ generosity,” she said instead, focusing on the fact that she still had her head attached to her body, and that no one in her family had been executed for treason. Not yet, anyway. It was more than many others could say, in the year since Thanos ascended to the throne of the Nine Realms. It was enough, and the truth rang clear in her words.   
  
Deprived of her chance to toy with the younger woman, Proxima’s false grin morphed into a scowl. “And you'd best not lose it, little fairy. It is only by His Majesty’s grace that you wear such clothes, and sleep in comfort. If not for his favor, you could be sleeping in the kitchens, or perhaps in the dungeons with the other filth of the castle.”  
  
Fury choked Darcy's throat and burned in her lungs, depriving her of air for a long moment. Instead of responding directly to Proxima’s insulting words, she simply inclined her head and peered up at the other woman through her eyelashes. There was a spark of the old defiant Darcy in her eyes as she met Proxima’s gaze. She tried to be smart, and she'd gotten good at blending into the background, but there was a line. Proxima crossed it frequently, and with pleasure.   
  
After holding her gaze a moment longer, Proxima harrumphed and looked away. The tangled web that tied Darcy to Thanos’ court was intricate and delicate, and Proxima knew better than to pull at it unnecessarily.   
  
“Watch yourself,” she muttered, then stalked away. The whole garden seemed lighter and livelier once she was gone. Birds finally resumed their song and the bees flitted lazily about once more. But Darcy knew better than to relax; the Black Order as a whole was fond of intimidation and mind games, and she was one of their favorite targets, when they could find her.   
  
She waited until Lady Midnight’s crunching footsteps on the gravel path had completely faded away, signaling that she'd left the garden, then waited almost another half a minute before releasing the breath she'd been holding.   
  
Darcy turned her face back to the sun, but the reassuring warmth from before was gone. Now, she only felt hollow and cold. 

 

* * *

 

“One of these days His Majesty will catch you down here, Lady Darcy, and then what will you do?” James cautioned, even as he scooped another helping of plum tart onto her plate. He knew it was her favorite.  
  
 Darcy shrugged, licking her fingers in a very unladylike manner. Luckily no one was around to care other than James, and he just offered her a crooked grin. “I’ll probably tell him that the plum is my favorite, but the blackberry rhubarb is a close second.”  
  
“Darcy.”  
  
“What do you want me to say, James? Coming down to the kitchens is one of the few joys I have in this goddess-forsaken place. Please don’t take that away from me.”  
  
Wiping his flour-covered fingers on a towel, James reached over to place his hand over hers. “Hey, you know I enjoy your company. I’m on your side, and you’ll always have a safe place here with me. I just worry about you, you know?”  
  
She looked down at her hand-sewn gown made from the finest silks. “Proxima tells me all the time how lucky I am to hold such a high position in King Thanos’ court. Because who wouldn’t want to be held as a hostage to ensure their father’s good behavior?” Bitterness had seeped into every fiber of her being, eating away at her until sometimes she felt like nothing but a soulless husk remained.  
  
“Proxima is full of shit,” James said, matter of fact.   
  
She laughed, bright and surprised. Perhaps there was some enjoyment left in her life, after all. A soft look stole over his features as he squeezed her hand. “You look lovely when you laugh.”  
  
When she blushed and looked down, unsure what to do in the face of such a sincere compliment, he pulled his hand away from hers. “Anyway, Proxima Midnight is full of it. She’s obsessed with Thanos, and is just as mad as he is. Is she giving you trouble?”   
  
Darcy wondered what a cook would be able to do about it, even if Proxima was giving her trouble. One look at James’ stony expression and she decided she didn’t want to know. If poison ended up in the commander’s food, she wanted to have plausible deniability. Luckily for everyone, she was able to answer in the negative. “No. She mostly ignores me.”  
  
“Good.” After a long moment of intense eye contact, he turned away to reach for a covered plate on a nearby counter top. “Would I be right in assuming that you’d like to visit your new best friend down in the dungeons today?”  
  
“Don’t be jealous, James,” she cooed. “You know you’re still my favorite. Or your plum tart is, at least,” she added, chuckling at the half-hearted glare he shot in her direction.  
  
Ignoring her teasing, he set the plate down in front of her. “His food is here, if you’d like to take it with you. Although Maya did say that the guards were particularly hateful toward her this morning.”   
  
She winced in sympathy. Maya was sweet and kind, but she was from Vanaheim, which had been staunch supporters of the Odinsons’ centuries-long rule. Like Darcy, she often found herself targeted. Unlike Darcy, however, she had no political leverage to keep herself safe.  
  
“They hate everyone who wasn’t born and raised here, James. I’m only treated with any kind of courtesy because of the fine clothing I wear. It might be best if someone else takes it down in the mornings, just to be safe. But yes, as always I will take his meal.”  
  
“Thanks, love. Come back when you’re done, yeah? You look like you could do with some more tart and a hot cup of tea by the fire.”  
  
She nodded and took the plate. “I’m sure I can make that sacrifice, if only for you. Hey—when are you going to stop giving him these boiled potatoes? He never eats them.”  
  
“It’s out of my hands. I only make him what they tell me. Maybe they’re trying to torture him with simple tavern fare, who knows.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you later, James. Try not to let your heart break from my absence.”  
  
“I’ll do my best,” he replied dryly. “Hey, Darcy?”  
  
She paused at the door and looked back at his suddenly-serious face. “Yeah?”  
  
“Be safe down there. Safe and _careful_.”  
  
“I always am, James, promise. See you when I get back.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy kept her eyes on her feet as she carefully made her way down the staircase to the dungeons. No matter how often she went, the gloomy darkness of that area of the castle never failed to unsettle her. The steps were wet and slippery from the dampness that seemed to seep through the stone walls, and if she wasn’t careful she’d end up sprawled across the floor wearing the prisoner’s dinner.  
  
As such, she was taken by surprise when a rough hand gripped her by the elbow.  
  
“Easy there, little lady,” the man sneered as he invaded her personal space. “Wouldn't want you to take a fall now, would we? I’d hate for you to tear that pretty dress.” The last was said directly to the bodice of her gown.   
  
“Captain Rumlow,” she replied stoically, not daring to pull her arm out of his grasp. They both knew he could make things very difficult for her with King Thanos, if he chose. “My thanks for the assistance.”  
  
“If you'd like to show your gratitude,” he began, “you could always—”  
  
A rattling of cell bars drew his attention away, but another guard was already yelling at the commotion.   
  
“What’re you making all that noise for, you damn shield-licker? Stuff it, before I come in and make you!”  
  
“That's my cue,” Darcy murmured, sliding past the captain to venture further into the gloom. “The kitchens sent me down with the prisoner’s tray.”  
  
“Why do they always send you?” the guard asked. “You're a _lady_.”  
  
“I like to be helpful,” she responded flatly and moved toward the cell. The guard stopped her with yet another hand on her arm. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes—or strike out at him—Darcy paused obediently. “Yes?”  
  
The guard stared at the food with the same lust in his eyes that Rumlow’d had when he looked at her. “Now see here, maybe the prisoner doesn't _deserve_ to eat. Doesn't seem right, him getting food while we go hungry.”  
  
“By all means,” she said, thrusting the tray of food in his direction. “If you think you can stomach this slop, go right ahead. Don't blame me if you get sick, though. And I happen to know for a fact that the cook is sending down something in a bit, specially just for the guards.”  
  
“Are you havin’ me on?” the guard asked suspiciously.   
  
“Of course not. But if you don't trust me, I'm happy to drop this tray off with you and get on with my evening.”   
  
He eyed at her for a moment longer, then shook his head and stepped aside. “I guess I can wait. In with you, then.”  
  
The occupant of the cell was already staring at her when she slipped inside. He leaned against the wall, face hidden in the shadows—likely to save her from looking at the results of the guards’ latest interrogation. Her heart broke for him anyway.   
  
“Hello, Captain Rogers.”  
  
“I've told you, Lady Darcy, I'm no longer a captain.”  
  
“And I've told you, sir, that I'm no longer a lady. And yet here we are.”  
  
“Here we are,” he agreed. The warmth and intensity of his gaze brought a flush to her cheeks, and she had to look away.   
  
“Well, let's get this over with,” she said, turning her face so the guards wouldn't see the small grin tucked into her cheek. “Here's your slop for the day, Captain.”  
  
“Not again,” he groaned. Only she could see the sparkle in his eye as he played it up for their audience. “My insults to your cook.”  
  
Darcy watched as he dug in with gusto, giving lie to his disparaging words about the meal. Of course, she knew that James had too much compassion for the prisoner to purposely sabotage his food. If the guards knew how well Captain Rogers was eating, however, they'd all be in trouble.   
  
To cover the happy sounds of him eating, Darcy babbled aimlessly. She talked about the weather, gossip she'd overheard from the servants, and whatever ridiculous style of dress was in fashion for the ladies of the court. Even as Captain Rogers listened avidly, she grew appalled by the inanity of what she was saying.   
  
Darcy cut herself off mid-breath to start over. When she spoke again, it was to tell a genuinely funny story about one of her afternoons spent in the kitchens with James and the other cooks. As she went on, Captain Rogers sat up straighter against the wall, his whole attention focused on the story she told. Little did Darcy know it, but her eyes lit up with enjoyment as she repeated one of James’ wittier quips. The creases around her eyes hinted at the fondness she felt for the dark-haired man, and the quirk of one side of her mouth hinted at the deeper feelings she tried to ignore.   
  
“It sounds as though you spend a lot of your time in the kitchens,” the captain noted, pausing his eating to offer a genuine grin.  
  
“I do,” she confessed, “I enjoy it—”  
  
“You shouldn’t,” a voice cut in from the door to the cell. It was the greedy guard from before. Darcy couldn’t believe she’d forgotten his presence; she’d been too caught up in her story and the warm weight of Captain Rogers’ gaze on her. “You’re important to King Thanos, and no companion of his should spend time talking to commoners and riffraff.”  
  
“I’m not his companion,” she retorted, too angry with herself and him to watch her words. “I’m a political prisoner, stuffed in a pretty dress.”  
  
“Lady Darcy—” Captain Rogers cautioned, only to be cut off by the guard.  
  
“If that’s true then maybe I shouldn’t let you down here anymore to fraternize with other prisoners.” The guard moved to loom over her, and Captain Rogers’ chains clinked and groaned as he shifted instinctively toward her, not that he could offer any real protection. “Or perhaps we should throw you in the cell next to his, since you enjoy his company so much.”  
  
Darcy trembled in fear and anger, cursing her dress for the millionth time. If he wanted to hurt her, there was nothing she’d be able to do.  
  
“Ward!” a voice called sharply. Darcy breathed a sigh of relief, marveling at the idea that she’d ever have reason to be grateful to Captain Rumlow. “Come here for a moment, and bring Lady Darcy with you.”  
  
She followed the man out of the cell without protest, her brain whirring as she thought of ways to minimize her outburst. Rumlow eyed her curiously, with a hint of suspicion. When he held a hand out to her, she moved forward until his hand slid around her back to rest between her shoulder blades.  
  
“I’m sure Lady Darcy did not mean her words the way they sounded,” he warned the other guard. Casting a gimlet eye at the woman next to him, he prompted, “Isn’t that right, milady?”  
  
“Of course not,” she replied demurely, casting her eyes to her feet. She willed tears to fill her eyes, spilling daintily over her cheeks. “It’s only that I ran into Proxima earlier today. She had some choice words to say about the Enchanted Kingdom, and, well—it affected me more than I hoped.”  
  
“We know how she is, Lady Darcy. Her words are as sharp as the knives she wields,” Rumlow cooed with insincere sympathy, sliding his hand up her back to cup her opposite shoulder and draw her closer. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to pull away. Darcy forced herself to lean into him, instead.  
  
Ward looked less than pleased, given the way his captain had capitalized on the moment. Even so, he knew better than to directly contradict his superior’s wishes. Grumpily, he asked, “Shouldn’t you be taking the prisoner’s plate back up to the kitchens, milady?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” she replied slowly, careful not to appear too eager to leave Captain Rumlow’s quasi-embrace. The back of her neck twitched as she pulled away, taut with the urge to shiver in disgust.  
  
Captain Rogers was already staring at the cell door when she walked through. Concern shone brightly in his eyes, and his  fists were tightly clenched as he strained against the chains that bound him to the wall. At her minute nod, a muscle ticked in his jaw. He followed her lead, however, and reclined back into a less threatening position. She knew he was worried, but she didn’t want him further injured as a result of her mistake.  
  
“I need to leave,” she murmured quietly. Maybe one day she’d be able to truly speak to him without an audience, but that felt like wishful thinking. She’d been visiting him almost daily for several months, and she was still no closer to finding a way to get him out of the dungeons. Not with them both alive, anyway. “Are you finished?”  
  
“He better be,” Ward sniped. “It ain’t a fucking feast to be eaten at his leisure. Take the plate, Lady Darcy.” Clearly the pretense of them being alone was over, as he and Captain Rumlow lingered in the doorway.  
  
Captain Rogers met her halfway, his hands outstretched to place the dish gently into her hands. His hands were rough and bruised. They were clearly still tender from the guards’ interrogation sessions—a favorite technique was to dislocate the fingers, she’d heard, and then reset them—and Darcy had to swallow back bile. Her eyes burned as she looked at the burned and torn skin underneath his manacles. She looked away as quickly as she could, but he still saw, and he squeezed her fingers as he pulled away.  
  
Those weren’t regular restraints, she knew. The marks were a distinctive feature of suppression cuffs—disgusting, vile things. They sapped him of strength, of life. She could see it in his eyes with every passing day; his will to live was slowly diminishing.  
  
“Are these truly necessary?” she wondered, gesturing toward the raw skin around his wrists.   
  
“Some of these damn Avengers have magic,” Captain Rumlow said from the door of the cell. “Those cuffs are the only thing keeping you alive right now, other than the two of us. He’s an animal, and like an animal he must be restrained. Are you done? The scum doesn't need to _socialize_.”  
  
Wearing her dignity like a cloak, Darcy ignored the vitriolic words. She mustered a half-smile and tried to tease the shackled man one last time—she was the only good part of his day, she knew. That was the only reason she came back day after day, forcing herself to witness his pain and humiliation at the hands of their shared captors.   
  
“Are you sure you won't eat the potatoes?” They were a little smashed and shoved around the plate, but as always he’d left them almost completely untouched.   
  
“Not even if I was starving,” the man replied, a faint twinkle in his eye. It was difficult to see past the blooming bruise that encompassed the entire left side of his face. His gaze slid past her to the men in the doorway. “That’s an idea, though. You might find I’d be more likely to talk if you treated me to some decent food, for once. What do you think, _Rumlow_?” The last word was spat with pure hatred.   
  
The guard lunged forward, grasping Darcy tightly by the elbow and all but throwing her out of the cell. “Take that tray back upstairs, Lady Darcy. Clearly this animal needs another round of discipline.”  
  
She lingered for a single moment longer, her eyes locked with that of the prisoner shackled to the floor. He held her gaze over the shoulder of the advancing guard, utterly unconcerned with the danger he was in. Darcy didn’t even try to stem the tears that flowed over her cheeks—she let him see. _I see you,_ she thought, _I witness you._  
  
A sad smile tugged at one side of his mouth, and then he jerked his chin slightly toward the hallway.  
  
Stifling a sob, she went. The sound of flesh hitting flesh followed her down the hallway.


	2. Warrior Paint

When she burst into the kitchens, blind with grief and anger and the burning salt of her tears, James tossed his knife onto the nearest flat surface and opened his arms. She faintly heard the clatter of Captain Rogers’ plate landing against the wooden counter as she rushed forward, but it didn’t matter because she was safe in James’ arms.  
  
She sobbed incoherently against the skin of his neck, unable to contain her grief any longer.   
  
“Get out,” she heard him snap. There was a soft patter of footsteps moving toward the door, and then all that was left was her gasping breaths and the words James murmured into her hair.  
  
“I’m here,” he whispered, stroking her back through the wild mane of curls that had broken loose from her braid. “I’m here, sweet girl.”  
  
“I can’t do this,” she whimpered. “They were—they—they were… he was—”  
  
“It’s okay, Darcy love,” he said, “I think I know.”  
  
She pulled away and swiped a careless hand over her eyes. When she looked up at him, eyes puffy and aching, he stared back at her with an expression of immense guilt.   
  
“I never should’ve allowed you to carry his food down,” he said. “I’m so sorry, love.”  
  
“No. No, I would go to see him anyway, and I wanted to help. I’m sorry, James. My company makes him happy. But it’s so difficult. I’m…”  
  
“You’re amazing, sweetheart.”  
  
“No, James.” Her mind was consumed with self-recriminations. “I’m weak! I couldn’t take it, and those fuckers were beating him and I didn’t _do_ anything—”  
  
“Shh,” he said immediately, and drew her back into his embrace. Turning his head, he whispered his next words directly into her ear. “There are ears everywhere, Darcy, you can’t say things like that out loud. And you are not weak,” he added as he pulled away. “You’re amazingly strong.”  
  
More tears spilled over her cheeks at his kind words, and he gently wiped them away before tucking an errant curl behind her ears. “Now why don’t you come sit with me for a minute, alright? I’ll put on a pot of coffee and serve up some of that plum tart for you.”  
  
James fussed over her, guiding her to the most comfortable chair in the kitchen before bringing her a cup of coffee and a warm plate of dessert. His expression was so endearingly earnest that she couldn’t help but chuckle.   
  
He raised an eyebrow at her. “And just what is so funny, Lady Darcy?”  
  
“You,” she confessed, another watery laugh escaping her. “You and plum tart. It’s like you think it fixes everything.”  
  
“Are you saying it doesn’t?” he retorted, righteously indignant. Then, grinning mischievously at her expression, he winked. Surprised, she broke into genuine laughter.  
  
As he watched her, his face gentled and eased into a genuine smile. “There she is. There’s my girl.”

 

* * *

 

Despite her reservations, Darcy resumed her daily trek to the dungeons. She never lost control of her tongue, though, nor forgot that her interactions with Captain Rogers were monitored to an almost invasive degree.   
  
And even though their conversations were stilted and impersonal, Darcy saw the way the Avenger’s eyes lit up every time she appeared in the doorway. She couldn't ignore the suspicion that his daily beatings were steadily getting worse—Captain Rumlow also saw the prisoner’s affectionate looks in her direction, and he was _not_ pleased—but she kept coming back, if only to catch the bittersweet smile he'd offer. It pulled at one side of his mouth, half in the shadows. A secret to be shared between the two of them.   
  
All things considered, Darcy’s life had taken a turn for the better. James watched out for her in the castle and offered her sanctuary in the kitchens when she needed it. He made her laugh, and held her close when all she wanted to do was cry. And he listened to her talk about Captain Rogers without complaint.   
  
“He sounds like a good man,” James murmured to her one day. Dropping his voice, he added, “maybe one day he'll get out of those dungeons and you can both escape this dreary castle to a better life.”  
  
She blushed and looked away. He misinterpreted her reaction and chuckled knowingly, and she didn't bother to correct him. Mostly because Darcy didn't know how to admit that while her feelings for Steve were strong, what she felt for James himself was just as deep. She'd go, if Captain Rogers asked, but only if James went too.   
  
She wanted to tell him, to confess it all, but instead she bit back the words so forcefully that a coppery tang filled her mouth.   
  
The confusing maelstrom of affection and attraction churned in her gut all day, and she couldn't stop thinking about the two primary men in her life. It was distracting, and dangerous.   
  
By the time dinner came around, her thoughts were fully occupied with James and Steve. She stumbled through the polite motions of eating her meal with little grace or attention, doing her best as always to ignore the giant man lounging at the far end of the dining table. Even on a good day, it was almost impossible to ignore the imposing figure of King Thanos, surveying the table as if it were his kingdom. The six jewels of his crown gleamed ominously in the candlelight. The infinity stones—as they were known—were Thanos’ only true claim to the throne. A claim which was shaky at best, considering he'd murdered his predecessor and donned the golden crown while it still dripped with King Odin’s blood.   
  
Luckily for Darcy, everyone else at the table seemed preoccupied as well. She was happy to be ignored. As she mindlessly ate the main course, unsure whether it was duck or chicken, the rumbling fury of High Commander Glaive drew her attention.  
  
“Would someone care to explain to me how it is that these so-called Avengers are uncovering and eliminating our spies so easily? Commander Pierce, what do you have to say for yourself? You _are_ supposed to be our head of intelligence, are you not?”  
  
Commander Pierce swallowed roughly; it was the first time Darcy had ever seen the unflappable commander even come close to losing his composure. To be fair, though, High Commander Glaive made Proxima Midnight look like a nurturing nanny. The woman in question cackled maniacally, anticipating the possibility of bloodshed.   
  
“Ooh,” she cooed, “yes, please. Show us your _intelligence_.” The only person who laughed at her pun was Ebony Maw. Everyone else stared at Alexander Pierce in anticipation—and in Cull Obsidian’s case, confusion.  
  
“Well,” he began, trying to buy himself time. When King Thanos leaned forward in his chair, glare heavy on his brow, the whole room stuttered to a stop. Even Darcy froze, far away down the table that she was, with her fork halfway to her mouth. After gathering himself visibly, Pierce continued, “it appears that—that is to say, it’s possible that—well, we may have an information leak in the castle.”  
  
With a loud screech of wood against stone, the king shoved his chair back from the table and stood. “Pierce, I want a full report of the situation in the council chambers. _Now_. Maw, Glaive, Midnight, accompany us. Obsidian, see to our guests.”  
  
The five of them marched toward the door. Pierce looked as though he was headed for his execution, which was probably true. Silence reigned, broken only by Midnight’s cawing laugh.   
  
“It's so very interesting,” she purred, “that we have a captive Avenger in our dungeons and yet _they_ seem to be the ones getting all the information.”  
  
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving a vacuum of air in the room. Immediately, the only member of the Black Order dug back into his meal, utterly unconcerned with anything else, which shattered the silence. Darcy quietly picked through the remains of her own meal, excruciatingly aware of Captain Rumlow’s intense stare. The heavy weight of his gaze had been upon her ever since Proxima had spoken Captain Rogers’ name.   
  
Darcy found herself hoping that Cull Obsidian would eat forever; anything to prevent her from being alone with Rumlow. She was afraid of the conclusions the guard captain might’ve drawn.   
  
Sure enough, as soon as she got up to leave the dining room he stood and offered to accompany her, knowing she had no way to refuse his request without arousing suspicion. Obsidian didn’t even look up from his meal as they left. Not that she’d held out much hope for a rescue from the burly enforcer, anyway.  
  
As soon as the door snicked shut behind them, Rumlow crowded Darcy. He threw her against the wall with such force that her ears started ringing. Instinctively, Darcy went to shove him away. She couldn’t help it; something primal within her was directing her actions, and all she could do was try to flee.   
  
She didn’t make it half a step before Rumlow reached out and caught her arms, crowding her back against the wall. His hands tightened around her biceps, squeezing so tightly that tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She refused to let them fall.  
  
“I know it’s you,” he growled. “You’re the one leaking information to those barbarians.”  
  
“How would I even do that?” she demanded incredulously. She was genuinely flabbergasted. “I'm not even privy to any sort of classified information!”   
  
The fact that she would pass along the information in a heartbeat if she was in a position to do so was left unsaid. It was a moot point, because no one under Thanos’ regime would ever trust her enough to let her get that close.  
  
Rumlow eyed her suspiciously for a long moment before he abruptly released his grip on her arm. She flinched as the blood rushed back into the bruised appendage, but actively refrained from rubbing at the ache. She was in no position to show even a hint of weakness.   
  
“I’ll be watching you, little fairy. You step one toe out of line, and I’ll throw you in the dungeons before you can blink.” He leaned in close to run his nose along her jaw. She shuddered in fear, shrinking further against the wall to escape his touch. “And I have some _creative_ ideas on how to get you to talk. I’m looking forward to it, actually.”  
  
With one last puff of air against her skin, he released her to stride down the hall. As soon as he was out of sight, Darcy slid down the wall and landed in a tangled puddle of skirts and tears. Her vision went gray and spotty, her breathing sawing in and out in weak, irregular gasps. Time passed without measure, until finally she was able to rein in her panic enough to think.   
  
It was clear that she couldn't stay slumped in the hallway forever, but she didn't think it was a good idea to indulge her first instinct, either. As much as she'd feel comforted by James’ embrace, now more than ever it was crucial that she not draw any attention to herself. If Rumlow was planning to keep an eye on her like he claimed, Darcy didn't want to give him any reason to go after James. The cook had never been anything but sweet and supportive to her, and she knew he had more than a little bit of a rebellious spirit.   
  
Honestly, she didn’t know the chances that James was in contact with one or another of the opposition movements within the capital, but she’d guess they were high. It wasn’t something they’d ever talked about outright, but they could easily guess each other’s opinions on the state of the kingdom. One of her boys was already in the dungeons—she really didn't want to make it both.   
  
And so Darcy crept through the hallways toward her bedroom, keeping as silent as possible and sticking to the shadows wherever she could. She was halfway to her room when terrifyingly familiar voices echoed down the corridor. Without stopping to think, she darted into an alcove partially obscured by a heavy curtain and flattened herself against the wall.  
  
She held her breath as Proxima Midnight and Ebony Maw moved down the hall in her direction, praying her heart wasn’t pounding loud enough for them to hear. They didn’t seem to sense anything amiss, thankfully, and she caught the tail end of their conversation as they passed.  
  
“—take weeks for me to get the last of his blood out of my hair,” Midnight joked gleefully. “I haven’t seen Thanos that angry in a long time. It was _glorious_.”  
  
“I wonder what has him so worked up,” mused her companion. “It’s not like he has anything to worry about, with the weight of those gems resting on his brow.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Proxima dismissed, “but did you see the look on that guard’s face during dinner? He looked to be positively quaking with nerves.”  
  
“Which one? Perhaps he was simply in awe of our king’s presence,” Maw suggested.  
  
“No. No, this was something else…” Their voices got fainter as they moved past her hiding spot, but Darcy was too afraid to take the chance of revealing herself. The encounter with Rumlow still weighed very heavily on her mind, and the last thing she needed was to get caught eavesdropping.   
  
Long minutes passed, and the alcove and the hallway beyond  were completely steeped in silence before she could coax her muscles to move. Forcing her hands away from the wall—she’d have bruises on the pads of her fingers later, she’d been pressing so hard—Darcy peeked past the curtain. Everything was clear.  
  
She raced to her room, abandoning stealth for speed, utterly terrified that she’d run into someone else on her journey to the east wing. At long last, she made it to her room. Darcy didn’t breathe easy until she’d locked her door and wedged a chair under the knob. She checked and double-checked each of the windows, then collapsed onto her bed with a muffled sob.  
  
Too terrified and wrung out to sleep, Darcy curled up in the middle of her bed. With the covers twisted in a riotous mess around her body, she sobbed. She cried and cried and cried, not knowing how she’d ever get out of the mess her life had become. She silently ranted and raved at the universe, at the sun goddess and her priestesses, at everything and everyone she could think of.   
  
_Why me?_ she wondered. _What could I have possibly done to deserve this hell?_  
  
Eventually, her tears slowed and her eyes slipped closed. As she swallowed against an achy throat, cracked and dry from the force of her tears, Darcy had one last clear thought.   
  
_Tomorrow_ , she promised herself, _tomorrow, I’m going down to the armory. Coulson owes me a favor, and it’s time to collect._  
  
And then she fell into an uneasy doze, her nightmares strong and unabating, buoyed only by the feeble hope that the next day would be better.

 

* * *

 

After hours of nightmares mixed with drowsy moments of overwhelming doubt and fear, Darcy finally fell into a true sleep around dawn. She felt no more prepared on how to cope with the situation when she finally lost the fight to her exhaustion. When she woke up hours later, she allowed the weight and vulnerability of her new circumstances to settle around her like a shroud.   
  
Normality reasserted itself, at least on the surface. The full light of day helped to dissipate some of her lingering panic, and eventually she decided that it would be more suspicious to change her routine than to carry on as usual. And so she continued to visit the kitchens and took Captain Rogers’ dinners down to him each day, pointedly ignoring Rumlow’s attempts to intimidate her as he loomed around practically every corner.  
  
Despite her best efforts, Darcy withdrew into herself. No one seemed to notice except for James, who shot her increasingly concerned looks. More than once, he tried to pull her aside to coax the information out of her. She put him off with excuses and tired smiles, but she knew that wouldn’t last forever. The only reason he’d let it go in the first place was because the kitchens were busy preparing for the first anniversary of Thanos’ coup—the Infinity War, as he called it. Personally, Darcy thought the man’s ego couldn’t get any more ridiculous.   
  
Either way, the evening promised to be a pompous, overblown event. Darcy’s presence was absolutely required, of course. Thanos was planning to show off his daughters, as he called them. Nevermind that he’d stolen them from the other kingdoms, removed them from their loving families. That meant nothing to the king, who had every intention of putting them on display like exotic animals.  
  
Days dragged by, all at once too slow and too fast for her taste. She wasn’t sleeping; terror followed her even into her dreams. When it wasn’t Rumlow, leering at her as he pursued her down a shadowy hallway or throwing her into a cell in the dungeons, it was memories of war. Of screams of pain, rising and falling in a cacophony of sound; of the grit and sting of dust in her eyes and the acrid taste of black magic filling her lungs.   
  
The look on her father’s face as she was dragged away, the tears in Jane’s eyes as a soldier abandoned the battlefield to carry Darcy’s best friend to safety. The anguish in Jane’s voice as she screamed Darcy’s name, pounding at the man’s shoulders and spine and begging him to take her back. The biting cold of iron manacles, snapped into place around her wrists as she stared in the direction her friend had disappeared. She’d never learned whether Jane had escaped with her life, or whether she’d been rounded up and executed as a traitor. Her best friend’s face featured in her nightmares all too often, now interspersed with James’ striking blue eyes and Steve’s earnest face.  
  
The nights she spent haunted by ghosts and her own fears of the future took their toll. Bruises darkened the skin beneath her eyes as the so-called celebration drew near, until they got so bad that Darcy could no longer bear to look at herself in the mirror. It was like looking at a shell of her former self, brittle with grief and rage and standing with one foot in the grave. James looked on in silence, his own shadows deepening to match hers. Some days, he held her hand so tightly she could feel her bones creak. It was like he was trying to singlehandedly anchor her to the world, to infuse vitality back into her blood and her soul with the strength of his grip.  
  
The morning of Thanos’ party, Darcy looked into the mirror for the first time in weeks. The woman in the reflection was fragile, and weak, threatening to break into a million pieces at the first gust of wind. Staring at herself, she wondered where the warrior had gone. Somewhere along the way she’d lost the woman who’d smuggled innocents to freedom in the middle of the war. She wanted to be that woman again, the one who’d thrown herself in front of a monster with a sword and who’d sacrificed her freedom for the safety of her people.   
  
Fury built within her like a raging brush fire, out of control and impossible to extinguish. She shook with the force of it, more alive than she’d felt in weeks, bright-eyed and ready to go to war.   
  
With new resolve, she settled at the vanity table and dipped a brush into her war paint. Concealer for the bruises under her eyes, pitch black kohl to line her eyes, and a dark crimson stain to draw attention to her pouty lips. She’d smile, sweet and sultry and distracting, and wait for the right moment to slide her knife between the ribs. They’d underestimate her, titter and mock her fallen status, but Darcy was one of the Enchanted. She was the snake in the grass, the hidden threat. Thanos and his Black Order might have the advantage for now, but she’d never rest until they paid for their crimes. They wouldn’t see her coming, not until it was too late.   
  
She strapped herself into her gown like a warrior suiting up for battle, tapping her secret holster to make sure it was securely fastened to her inner thigh. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, Darcy strode from her room.  
  
The celebration was as infuriating as she’d expected. The ballroom was full of sycophants and cowards: those who’d actively supported Thanos’ treacherous rise to power and those who’d been too afraid to do anything at all, waiting until the battles were won and the bodies buried to come crawling out of the woodwork. Darcy bit her tongue, smiled prettily, and let them write her off as nothing more than attractive scenery. She sipped champagne, adopted a slightly vacant look, and listened hard for the subtext of people’s conversations.  
  
It was clear that Thanos was having a harder time stamping out opposition than she’d known—the room was heavy with doubts and concern, and above all worry that at the end of it all they’d chosen the wrong side. As best she could, Darcy memorized faces and occupations—which merchants seemed to cater to both sides, the noblemen whose pockets were lined most heavily with the king’s gold, and above all the women who’d captured their attention. She was immersed in following one such conversation when someone bumped into her elbow.  
  
Worried that she’d been caught eavesdropping, Darcy spun toward the person accosting her. She was startled to meet familiar blue eyes.  
  
“James?” she asked, stunned by his appearance. With his hair combed and styled and in full formal wear, she almost didn’t recognize him.  
  
He looked equally surprised to see her. “Darcy? Shit,” he cursed, darting a frantic look over his shoulder.  
  
In a flash, she understood. Even as her whole world teetered on the brink of collapse—James, one of her only constants in this goddess-forsaken realm, was clearly not who she thought he was—Darcy knew she had a decision to make. She could leave him here and abandon him to Thanos and the Black Order, or she could take a chance.   
  
His gaze held hers, deep blue and steady as ever. He stared at her with an unsettling intensity, as if willing her to look into his soul and judge what she found. There was no hint of the panic he must be feeling, and she knew that he had decided to put his fate in her hands.  
  
Memories of all the days he’d held her close as she cried, or distracted her with something warm to eat or a funny story—of the days he’d asked about her homeland with genuine interest and sympathy—flashed through her mind. With hardly any thought at all, she knew there was only one choice she could ever make.   
  
“Dance with me,” she ordered, pulling at his wrist. He stared at her blankly for a moment before following her to the crowded dance floor. “Just pretend to be my date,” she urged, pulling his hand around her waist and sliding them into the throng of couples gliding around the room. He recovered quickly from his shock and took the lead, moving with effortless grace.  
  
“So,” she muttered bitterly, trying to focus on anything other than the heat of his hand at her lower back, “you’re not really a cook.”  
  
“Well,” he prevaricated, smiling that crooked grin she loved so much. It made her heart ache with betrayal and a longing for what would clearly never be, “I’m not _just_ a cook. I do make a mean plum tart, as you very well know.”  
  
She didn’t respond to his teasing. “Were you never going to tell me? Do you not trust me? I’ve confided so much in you.” She stared over his shoulder, willing away the faint burn at the corners of her eyelids.  
  
“Darcy,” he murmured, suddenly serious. “Darcy, look at me.” He punctuated his words with a gentle squeeze to her waist. When she met his gaze, she saw nothing but sincerity and regret in his eyes.  
  
“What, James? Is that even your real name?” she hissed lowly, not wanting to draw too much attention.  
  
“Yes, sweetheart, James is my name. I haven’t lied to you, okay? Look, I can’t say anything more tonight. It’s not safe. Come down to the kitchens tomorrow, and I promise I’ll explain as much as I can.”  
  
Hearing the qualifier, she frowned. When she hesitated, he begged, “Please, love.”  
  
“Alright. I’m trusting you, James. If you disappear on me, I swear on the goddess’ flame I will hunt you down.”  
  
“I won’t disappear, Darcy. I couldn’t do that to you.” He looked around, attempting to gauge the level of attention they were garnering.  
  
Realizing they’d reached the edge of the dance floor at an opportune time for him to escape, Darcy pulled away. “Get out of here, before whoever you’re running from catches up to you.”  
  
“You’re a doll,” James whispered, surprising her with a tender brush of his lips to her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love. Stay safe tonight.”  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
Keen not to draw attention to herself, Darcy slid back into mingling. She flitted from group to group, her attention focused less on gathering information and more on unraveling James’ secrets. Despite his reassurances, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be gone when she made her way to the kitchens the following afternoon.   
  
Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t see Rumlow until he caught her roughly by the elbow.  
  
“Who was that?” he hissed angrily in her ear, bruising her with his unyielding grip.   
  
“Who was _who_ , Captain?” she questioned as evenly as possible, hoping beyond hope that he couldn’t feel her frantically thudding pulse.  
  
“That man you were just dancing with, woman. _Do you take me for a fool?_ ”  
  
“Of course not,” she replied, “though he tried to take _me_ for one.”  
  
Thrown off his stride, Captain Rumlow blinked. “What do you mean?”  
  
“He asked me to dance, and I was _of course_ too polite to say no; Thanos is counting on us to be on our best behavior, is he not? When it became clear that he was only interested in one thing—there are _unkind_ rumors about my people, as you no doubt know—I politely informed him that I was not interested. He left rather quickly, and rudely, after that.”  
  
His eyes bored into hers, trying to gauge the honesty of her story. It had been a long time since Darcy had told such a blatant lie, but she kept her eyes as wide and innocent as possible. When he grunted in acknowledgment, she felt as though she could breathe again. Until he questioned, “What was his name, this attempted philanderer?”  
  
Before she could even gather her thoughts to formulate a reply to his suspicious query, Darcy was saved by the arrival of a stunningly beautiful woman with flame-red hair. She stepped right into Darcy’s personal space, and didn’t bother to wait for an introduction. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said with a vaguely apologetic look in Rumlow’s direction, though when she looked back at Darcy her eyes gleamed with mischief, “but I simply had to know how you were able to paint your lips that gorgeous color. Please, milady, share your secrets.”   
  
Darcy was caught by the sense that there was something familiar about the woman, and she struggled to formulate a reply. Rumlow took the opportunity to cut in, “Excuse me, we were speaking—” He stuttered to a stop when the woman turned the full force of her magnetic gaze to him.   
  
“Oh, you don’t mind, do you, handsome? It’s just that I’ve got a good eye for trends, and I want the secret to that crimson masterpiece before anyone else has the chance.” The woman eased a thumb across Darcy’s lower lip in a caress reminiscent of a lover, her gaze riveted to its arcing path. Rumlow fidgeted uncomfortably and cleared his throat, but the woman paid no mind.   
  
Without another look at the man, she led Darcy away to a more private corner of the room. They walked in silence, and Darcy had the feeling that yet again she was missing something. Finally, they came to a stop just behind a column, strategically positioned near the ballroom doors.   
  
“There you are,” the redheaded woman said with a wink, “now get out of here and get yourself somewhere safe.”  
  
“Thank you,” Darcy muttered fervently, wondering briefly who the woman was and how she’d known that Darcy was in danger. Then she turned her back on the woman and strode from the ballroom without another glance. She had too much to think about and no time to linger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments make the world go 'round.


	3. Plum Tart and Deceit

Despite her late night, Darcy was out of bed and dressed at a reasonable hour the next morning. She’d tossed and turned all night, unable to get the image of James out of her head. The way he’d laid his fate in the palm of her hands was deeply unsettling, for a number of reasons. Not least of which was that she was absolutely sure James would not purchase formal wear and infiltrate an invitation-only event in King Thanos’ court just to rub elbows with the so-called elite.  
  
And so she was up and sitting at her window seat before many of the revelers downstairs had even made their way to bed, turning the puzzle over and over again in her brain. By the time the clock chimed mid-morning, she was no closer to figuring the man out. She was, however, fairly certain that he would be there when she made her way down to the kitchens. Surely she hadn’t misjudged the man that terribly. _Right?_  
  
Darcy summoned her courage and left her room, the only true place of safety she’d ever had in the castle. She made her way quickly and quietly through the halls, hoping beyond hope that she met neither the Black Order nor any members of the guard. When the journey passed without incident, she finally allowed herself to wonder whether James would be in the kitchens as promised.  
  
He was.  
  
James’ eyes were tired and bruised, and he was already staring at the door when she crept through, dusting his hands needlessly with a dishcloth. His whole face sagged with relief as they made eye contact, and she knew he’d been waiting for her. The kitchen was bustling with activity and noise as the rest of the servants prepared for the midday feast, but he kept his gaze on hers.  
  
After hours of imagining this exact moment, she didn’t know what to say. Which was just as well, because he spoke first.   
  
“Darcy.” It was practically a whisper, her name, quiet enough that it almost got lost in the hubbub around them. Then he shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. Suddenly shy, he reached behind him for a covered plate and held it out in her direction. A peace offering.   
  
“Will you eat something?”  
  
She laughed, though it came out sounding suspiciously like a sob. “James…”  
  
“It’s plum tart,” he defended, offering up his most charming grin. “I know we need to talk, love, but please won’t you let me feed you as well?”  
  
Capitulating easily, she took the proffered plate and followed him to a relatively quieter part of the kitchen. He handed her a fork, then waited for her to take a bite or two before speaking.  
  
And then he waited a little longer, opening and closing his mouth several times until she quirked her eyebrow at him in question. Finally, he sighed and said, “I don’t know where to begin.”  
  
At the reminder that he’d been lying to her ever since they met, Darcy felt a stab of pain in her gut. “Your name, for starters,” she suggested, more biting than she’d intended. “Is it even James?”  
  
“Yes,” he promised, and put his hand over her empty one. When she didn’t pull away, he smiled. “My friends sometimes call me another—a nickname of sorts—but yes, my name is James.”  
  
“And who _are_ your friends, James? What are you doing here, pretending to be a cook?”  
  
“I can’t tell you that right now.” She scowled, causing him to offer an apologetic look and lean in close. He squeezed the hand he still held and murmured, “I know I promised to talk to you, Darcy, but I didn’t realize you’d come right when we’re in the meal of preparing a feast for King Thanos and his guests. There’s no privacy right now, and what I have to tell you requires us to be alone. It’s dangerous enough for me to be telling you anything, love, and there’s much I can’t even say at all. I can’t risk us being overheard.”  
  
Even as her stomach writhed with anxiety over the delay, Darcy had to concede the point. In her haste to get an explanation, she’d thrown her usual routine completely out the window. Checking the time, she grimaced. She’d put herself in a tight spot with her recklessness; everyone would be moving about the castle now, recovered from their hangovers and anticipating food. And if she stayed, she’d draw too much attention to herself. It was one thing to pass time through the kitchens and socialize with James, and another to actively hide out there for hours. Tongues would wag, which was the absolute last thing she needed.  
  
“If you want,” James began, watching her face carefully, “you could take Steve’s morning meal down to the dungeons. It’s much earlier than your usual time, I know, but we’ve been busy preparing for yet another feast and no one has had the time to take any food to him yet.”  
  
Realizing that the path to the dungeons would keep her clear of the king, the Black Order, and his myriad guests, she was inclined to agree to the request. It still left her Rumlow to deal with, of course, but in the grand scheme of things he was the lesser threat. Plus, she might get lucky; the guard captain had been invited to the party the previous night, after all, so perhaps he’d also be missing from the dungeons for the midday feast.  
  
“Yes, I’ll do that,” she agreed, wondering how much he’d seen in her expression. James seemed to have a habit of looking out for her, and she couldn’t say she minded. Even if she wasn’t all that sure about anything else, at the moment.  
  
It wasn’t until she was halfway down the stairs that Darcy thought to wonder at James’ casual use of Captain Rogers’ name. In the last few months she’d gradually begun to use the man’s given name more often, it was true, but she’d never heard James do so. She mentally tacked it onto the list of things she was planning to ask him when she returned.  
  
The walk into the lower levels of the castle was as dark and dismal as always. Expansive windows and natural sunlight gave way to gloomy shadows and uneven lighting. It leeched away at her core, sapping her energy with every step. Her people relied on sunshine and open spaces more than anyone knew and she was deeply sympathetic to Steve’s suffering, even if he didn’t mourn the loss of the sun in the same way she would.  
  
Steve took one look at her face and surged forward. He took the dinner tray from her hands and tossed it haphazardly on the bed before reaching in her direction.  
  
“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” he asked, letting his hand hover in the air between their bodies before dropping it awkwardly to his side.   
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“If you say so,” he replied with a skeptical look, his gaze lingering on the bruises under her eyes and the fingers that practically shook with fatigue. Leaning in close, he whispered, “Are you sure? Is someone hurting you?”  
  
Mindful of the ever-listening ears, Darcy put on a brittle smile and took a half-step back. “I’m fine, really. King Thanos’ ball was last night. There were a lot of people, and I think I might have had too much wine.” Her eyes flicked to the hallway as she spoke, and Steve took the hint.  
  
“I can imagine,” he said, and retrieved his tray. “Well, my thanks for bringing my tray even after your late night. Although you’re usually here later in the day, aren’t you? I know my sense of time is off, but surely not by that much.”  
  
“I was around,” she replied airily, “with nothing to do, and the kitchens were busy preparing the king’s midday feast. I hope you’re not unhappy to have me instead of whoever usually brings it by.”  
  
“Not at all,” he said, eyes steady on hers. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down her spine.  
  
She gestured at the food he had yet to start eating. “Well, it’s certainly nothing compared to the feast being prepared upstairs, but hopefully it does the job.”  
  
He hummed in acknowledgment. “Food is food, even if they do insist on serving me potatoes with every tray.”  
  
“Oh, no. Not the potatoes.”  
  
“Mhmm,” he agreed, laughing, “a special kind of torture, they are.”  
  
Watching him have to suffer the indignity of eating his food with dirty fingers felt like a spectacular invasion of privacy, so Darcy turned away. That felt wrong, too, as the only sounds were his fingers shifting through the food on his plate. Casting around for something to say, Darcy seized upon the first thing that came to mind.  
  
“Do you miss the sun?” she asked, mimicking her thoughts from earlier. As she spoke, she stroked a finger down the iron bars of his cell and shuddered at the cold.  
  
There was a pause, then he cleared his throat. “I do, yes.” He hesitated, then added, “The sun is important to your people, isn’t it? In a more essential way than the other peoples of the Nine Realms.”  
  
“Yes.” Her voice was softer than a whisper as she confessed one of her people’s secrets. For whatever reason, she had no doubt he’d take it to his grave. “We cannot survive without it. I would die down here, I think.”  
  
“There could be no earthly reason to lock a woman like you in these awful cells,” he declared, like it was a fact of the universe.  
  
 _There’s no sense of decency or morality to the way Thanos rules this kingdom_ , she wanted to say but didn’t. All the ways she’d wanted to fight back, to avenge and gain justice for the atrocities committed against her people and the others of the Nine Kingdoms welled in her throat, but she bit them back. She didn’t know how to respond without giving voice to a lie, so she hummed noncommittally instead.  
  
For a moment, the only sound in the tiny space was that of his fingers scraping against the plate as Steve finished his meal. Then, he offered a quiet, “I’m finished, milady.”  
  
When she turned, he stared at her contemplatively. “Darcy—”  
  
She waited, but he didn’t continue his thought. “Yes?”  
  
“Nevermind,” he said, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. “Thank you for the company. I appreciate you coming down so often to see a lowly prisoner like me.”  
  
“Don’t call yourself that,” she hissed, incensed at the casual way he mocked his status.  
  
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” That strange glint was back in his eyes, even as he offered a self-deprecating grin. “Sometimes humor is the only way I know how to cope, even when it’s inappropriate.”  
  
“No, I’m sorry,” she whispered quickly, feeling guilty for her outburst when she was the one who got to escape to safety. “I just—I don’t think of you that way. You’re not lowly. And you’re _not_ a criminal, no matter what they say.”  
  
“I’ve done awful things in the name of peace, Darcy.”  
  
“Not like him,” she said. “Never like him.”  
  
“No,” he agreed. “That would be unforgivable.”  
  
They waited in silence, each of them loathe to break the fragile _something_ brewing between them. But the sound of footsteps echoing down the passageway broke the spell, and he held the tray in her direction.   
  
“One day I hope we’ll be able to share a meal without these shackles in the way, and with better fare,” he joked with a wry grin. It was the first time he’d ever alluded to a future past the bars of his cell, and Darcy couldn’t fight her answering smile.  
  
“No potatoes,” she answered, and he chuckled. “I’d like that. But I do have to go.”  
  
He nodded, handing her the tray as she stood to leave. She couldn’t resist taking an extra moment to linger, stroking his wrist with her fingers as she took the tray from his grasp, delighting in the goosebumps that erupted on his skin in the wake of her touch.   
  
“I’ll see you later,” she said, her voice a little breathier than she’d like to admit.  
  
“Be safe, milady.”  
  
“Try not to get into too much trouble, Captain. Those bruises have almost completely faded. I’d hate to see more when I visit tomorrow.”  
  
Steve stayed silent, grinning in a way that offered no promises. He stayed on the opposite side of the cell as she called for the guard—Ward, to her distaste—to let her out of the cell. He did so with little grace, glaring at Steve as if he expected the prisoner to surge forward and use her as a hostage in a desperate bid to escape. Even though they all knew that Steve had too much honor to put a woman in danger. Darcy knew for a fact that he’d never harm a hair on her head.  
  
Before she could advance more than a couple of steps down the hallway, Rumlow stepped around the corner, giving her a fright.   
  
“Ward,” he barked. “You’re dismissed. Thanos wants extra security at the feast.”  
  
With a look of surprised—if slightly suspicious—delight, Ward took off down the corridor before his superior could change his mind. Darcy was briefly curious, knowing that security at the feasts was considered a choice shift and that Rumlow usually kept them for himself. Shrugging to herself, she made to continue on her way without making eye contact with the guard captain; the conflict from the night before still weighed heavily on her mind.  
  
Before she could even take two full steps, he inserted himself directly into her path. Darcy looked up, startled, and flinched away involuntarily. His glare was terrifying in its intensity. He almost looked _betrayed_ , which didn’t make sense.   
  
“I thought you were smarter than this, Lady Darcy,” he growled, moving toward her with purpose. “I warned you that I’d be watching.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, taking a step back for each of his steps forward. After only a handful, her back hit the wall with a thud. Darcy blinked away memories of him slamming her against the wall and swallowed anxiously. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I always bring Captain Rogers his food.” She held up the plate as evidence—as usual, only the potatoes were left.  
  
“Yes, your usual routine.” His words agreed with her, but his tone implied something else. Despite knowing she had nothing to hide (in this regard, at least), Darcy fought a wave of terror. Her heart pounded in her ears, so loud that she could hardly hear his words as he continued, “It was so obvious, once I figured it out.”  
  
“ _What_ was so obvious, Rumlow?” she demanded, fed up. She could hear Steve rattling around in his cell, pulling on his chains as he fought to stand, but she ignored it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Stop playing stupid, girl!” He snatched the dinner tray out of her hands, digging around in the mashed potatoes. She stared at him like he was a madman, and jumped when he yelled in triumph and threw the tray against the wall. It shattered upon impact, but his gaze was riveted on the rolled-up piece of paper clutched tightly in his fist.  
  
She gaped at him in astonishment, even as a terrible suspicion churned through her gut. _James_ , she thought, closely followed by an equally-anguished, _Steve_. “What is that?”  
  
“This, Lady Darcy, is the source of that information leak we’ve been looking for.” Some of the glee in his expression dimmed as he took in her genuine surprise. “You truly didn’t know, did you?”  
  
Fury built within her chest, along with a choking despair and sense of utter hopelessness. The rage won out.   
  
“No,” she spat. “I didn’t know.” She didn’t know, because James hadn’t bothered to tell her. To trust her, to confide in her. He’d used her to undermine King Thanos’ reign, and he hadn’t even bothered to inform her. It was a stab of betrayal—surely he’d known she would have been willing to help, after all the times she’d confided in him. He just hadn’t trusted her.  
  
“Then you’ll have no problem telling me who picks up these clever pieces of paper to pass them along,” he taunted, smug in his assumption that she’d feel betrayed enough to give up whoever she was protecting.  
  
For half a second, she toyed with the idea. But she could never do it. Even if he had no use or care for her, Darcy had a sense deep in her gut that James was important. He was working to end Thanos’ rule, and that was bigger than her. More important than one life, even if it was hers.  
  
“I don’t know,” she lied, staring the guard captain straight in the eyes.  
  
Rumlow’s face contorted with menace, and he surged forward to grab her by the upper arms. His fingertips dug into the still-fading bruises he’d already left on her body, and she cried out in pain. She had no time to catch her bearings or try to pull away before he was throwing her into an empty cell.  
  
The door was closed and locked before she could even untangle herself from her skirts and attempt to stand. “You’ll talk,” he promised, leering at her through the bars. “I’ll make sure of that. But if you’ll excuse me,” he spat in a mockery of courtly manners, “I have some evidence of treason to show his majesty.”  
  
And then he walked away, leaving her to huddle up against the cold, dark wall and cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments make the world go 'round.


	4. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I climbed my first mountain yesterday, and it was a busy week overall.
> 
> only one chapter left after this. xoxo

Chains rattled nearby, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. Funny, that she’d forgotten all about the man sitting in the cell next to hers when he was the reason she was imprisoned in the first place. Only a few hours ago, she’d felt such pity that he was down here locked away. She’d been determined to find a way to get him out. Darcy let out a wet, bitter laugh at the irony of it all.  
  
“Lady Darcy? Are you alright?” his voice rumbled across the gap between them, heavy with concern.  
  
Righteous fury bloomed once more in her gut, burning through her intestines and setting her lungs on fire. Nausea swept over her, and distantly she wondered whether she was about to lose the contents of her stomach. She could hardly breathe through the angry tears clogging her throat, and she couldn’t have answered him even if she wanted to.  
  
After a few moments of silence, he tried again. “Darcy? Please tell me if you’re alright.”  
  
“Don’t speak to me,” she spat, the words falling from her lips like shards of broken glass. “I have nothing to say to you.”  
  
A long silence filled the darkness as he fought for the right words to breach the icy silence. Ignoring him, she stared blindly into the murky black space in front of her. She wondered what would happen to her now. There was no doubt in Darcy’s mind that she’d be executed for this, even if she hadn’t been an intentional accomplice.  
  
“I never meant to put you in danger. And I’m sure Bucky didn’t, either—”  
  
“Who the hell is Bucky?” she wondered aloud, trying to figure out if she’d missed something. She was sure it had been James on the receiving end of the notes. James who had sent the information about Thanos’ spies to Thor Odinson. James who had infiltrated all parts of the castle in order to—  
  
“Yes,” a voice murmured from the darkness, “Pray tell: _who is Bucky?_ ”  
  
Rumlow stepped out from the shadowed wall, peering at first Steve, then Darcy, from beyond the walls of their cells. Darcy thought she saw Steve wince, whether for losing track of time or assuming they were alone—or both—she didn’t know. She softened a little, knowing that he'd been so concerned about her that it had temporarily overriden his common sense.   
  
When neither of them jumped to answer his question immediately, Rumlow sighed heavily.   
  
“You know, it's interesting,” he began, and Darcy couldn't help but roll her eyes. She wanted to ask how long his monologue was going to take—even in a prison cell, she had better things to do—but she refrained. Barely. Paying little mind to her less than keen interest, he continued, “I went up to the kitchens, following through like a good captain should. And it's amazing, but not a single goddamned servant remembers ever sending or collecting a plate from our esteemed prisoner, here. You know what that means, don't you?”  
  
“That you can finally admit it was all a figment of your sad little imagination?” Darcy suggested before Steve could even open his mouth. Sarcasm was her defense mechanism, clearly, even when she was terrified out of her wits.   
  
“Funny,” Rumlow sneered. His grin was dark and sinister in the flickering light as he moved closer to her cell. “You should keep that barbed tongue trapped behind your teeth, _milady_. The two of you are my only leads, now. We can make this as easy or as difficult as you like.” His face contorted reflected a disturbing excitement at the latter option.   
  
Trembling with disgust and faint terror at the look on his face, Darcy locked her muscles in place to avoid taking a step backward.   
  
Steve growled the guard captain’s name as he shifted audibly in the next cell, undoubtedly trying to draw the man’s malice toward himself.   
  
If she could’ve spoken around the sudden dryness in her throat, Darcy would have told him not to bother. It was clear from the look on Rumlow’s face that this was the opportunity he’d waited months for, to have her at his mercy. Mercy which would clearly _not_ be forthcoming.  
  
Sure enough, when Rumlow unclipped the ring of keys from his belt it was Darcy’s cell he unlocked. “How long,” he mused, shooting her a conspiratorial look as if they were just two friends catching up over a cup of tea, “do you think it will take for Captain Righteous to break, in the name of saving you?”  
  
“He won’t.” Her blunt words were meant more for her fellow prisoner than the man stalking toward her—a warning, letting him know where she stood. She wouldn’t break, and he couldn’t either.   
  
Chains scraped across stone, followed by a whisper of her name, but Steve didn’t give further voice to his protest. It screamed across the space between them, helpless and furious and silent in the air, but he didn’t say another word. His unspoken support wrapped around her like a blanket, and she straightened her spine and warily eyed Rumlow as he stepped ever closer.  
  
The guard captain was thrown off by her unexpected response. His steps faltered momentarily, but he recovered with a quick sneer. “Are you so sure about that?”  
  
Darcy didn’t reply; instead, she wiped her clammy hands against the fabric of her skirt, dipping her fingers into the pocket hidden among its many folds.   
  
At her lack of response, the lines around Rumlow’s mouth deepened, his jaw clenching spasmodically, and he switched tactics. “Come now, Lady Darcy, there’s no need for this to get unpleasant. You know how much I like you, milady. Just tell me what I need to know and no one needs to get hurt. Surely some piece of kitchen trash isn’t worth your loyalty.”  
  
She ducked her chin and bit her lip, watching his boots as they advanced across the floor. The door was wide open behind his back, and a part of her wanted to run. Wanted to kick him right between his legs, spit in his face, and make him regret ever underestimating her. That would leave Steve alone in the dungeons, James vulnerable to exposure from whatever plot they’d cooked up, and her stranded in a castle with at least a hundred hostile guards between her and freedom.   
  
So, instead of making a break for it, she watched. And waited.  
  
In what seemed to be no time at all, his polished boots came to a stop in front of hers. Within striking distance, for either of them. The slap was still unexpected, though. After all his talk about not wanting to hurt her, too. But, she supposed, she’d known his words for lies all along.   
  
As he struck, a ring he kept on his littlest finger caught the corner of her lip, spraying a rush of blood into the air between them. She was frozen with shock and pain, but a furious, strangled shout came from Steve’s cell. He rattled the bars in his rage.   
  
Rumlow ignored him. Captivated, he licked his lips at the sight of her blood. Darcy willed herself not to cry, sick from the pain and the disturbing expression on his face. Smiling, he took several steps back to hold his hand up to the faint light seeping into the cell from the flickering lamps in the hall. Admiring the way her blood streaked across gold, he prompted, “Well? Are you ready to speak?”  
  
Her lip throbbed, pulsing in a macabre rhythm to the beat of her heart. Tears burned at the corner of her eyes—despite her anger, her burning rage at Thanos and all his lackeys, she simply wasn’t used to physical violence, and wasn’t immune to the pain of being struck—but she refused to let them fall. For the first time since he’d entered her cell, she looked up and met the man’s eyes.  
  
“No.”  
  
With a feral grin, Rumlow reached down to fumble at the placket of his trousers. “I was hoping you would say that. It’s more fun this way.”  
  
A raucous clamoring and yelling came from the adjoining cell, but Rumlow’s eyes never strayed from hers. For her part, Darcy’s attention stayed riveted on the threat in front of her. Her heart pounded in her ears, beating at her ribcage and clawing its way up her throat, trying its best to burst straight out of her chest. Despite the panic that wrapped its way around her lungs, squeezing and choking her until black spots burst at the corner of her vision, she kept her breaths slow and even.  
  
Ignoring everything else—even Steve’s frantic curses and banging faded into the background—she counted Rumlow’s steps as he moved within striking distance.   
  
The faint sound of her blood hitting the cold stone counted along with her.   
  
One step. _Drop._   
  
Two. _Drop._   
  
Three.  
  
Her hand twitched beneath her skirts, shifting slightly to grip the stun baton strapped to the outside of her thigh in a tighter grip. Still, she waited. Waited until his gaze dropped from hers to focus on the buttons of his trousers. Like the deadly snakes of her homeland, she struck without mercy.  
  
With a quick press of her index finger and a flick of her wrist, Darcy pulled the baton from the folds of her skirts and thrust it into the man’s chest. With a loud crackle, strongly reminiscent of a rolling thunderstorm, a bolt of lightning discharged from the weapon and launched him bodily across the room.   
  
She squinted against suddenly-watery eyes, clutching the baton with twitching fingers. Her teeth chattered in her skull even as she held her breath to try to hear past the deafening ringing in her ears.  
  
For a single thudding heartbeat, the guard captain didn’t move. Just as Darcy began to wonder if he was dead, if she could snag the keys off his corpse and sneak herself and Steve out of the castle, stopping on the way to snag James (she’d berate them both later, once they were all safe and free and one hundred percent alive), the man groaned and shifted onto his knees. A trickle of blood pooled at his temple from where he’d struck his head against the metal bars. A dazed expression clouded his eyes, but the pure hatred lurking within was impossible to miss.  
  
As he struggled to stand, bracing himself against the cell bars to pull himself upright, she brandished her now-depleted weapon in his direction.   
  
“Darcy,” Steve hissed, beckoning to her like a madman. “Get over here.”   
  
Never taking her eyes from the threat in front of her, she took careful steps backward until one shoulder pressed bruisingly close to the bars. Steve bracketed her body as much as he could, shoving his hands through the bars. She had no doubt that if Rumlow attempted another assualt, he would strangle the man with his bare hands.  
  
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned the guard captain, her voice shaking with determination and the potential for violence. She’d bash his head in, if she had to, and that conviction revealed itself in the snarl of her lips and the stiffness of her outstretched arm.   
  
He eyed her for a long moment, no doubt weighing his desire to put her in her place against the sizable head injury she’d already inflicted upon his person. Luckily for her, the pain won out.  
   
With a hiss of mingled pain and fury, he backed into the hallway. “This isn’t over,” Rumlow promised, holding her gaze even as he closed the cell door and locked it with an ominous thud. His steps were heavy and faltering as he stumbled down the hall.  
  
Darcy stood at the back of her cell, baton still held outstretched in front of her, until well after the sound of his footsteps faded into an uneasy silence. All of a sudden, she lost all strength and sank to her knees in an ungraceful heap. Her breath sawed in and out unevenly, and her vision went white with suppressed terror. Her ears buzzed and ached in turn, and her fingers dug painfully into unforgiving stone. The floor was cold against her clammy forehead.  
  
Eventually, the vague buzzing in her ears sharpened into a panicked Steve’s soft calls. “Darcy, Darcy, Darcy,” he chanted, as if summoning her back to the present. “Come back to me, sweetheart. Come back.”  
  
With what felt like superhuman effort, she was able to twist her head to the side and meet his frantic gaze. He had knelt alongside her, holding his body flush against the bars that separated their cells. His wrists were raw and bloody beneath the suppression cuffs—from his determination to protect her against Rumlow or his attempts to gain her attention, she wasn’t sure—but he paid them no mind.  
  
Soft eyes and a clenched jaw and gentle words; that was all she could focus on. “There you are, sweet girl. Stay with me.”  
  
Something inside her broke, and she choked on a sob. He watched helplessly as she folded in on herself, trying to keep her cries silent. Steve called her name once, twice more.  
  
When she swiped at her eyes and met his gaze again, his hands were stretched through the bars. The unspoken invitation was too much for her to resist. On unsteady knees, heedless of the way the rough stone scraped against her legs and shredded her skirts, Darcy shuffled to his side. As soon as she was back within reach, Steve grasped her hand in both of his. He rubbed soothing circles into her palm, murmuring soothing nonsense under her breath.  
  
“I’ve got you, Darcy. It’s okay, sweetheart. Let it out.”   
  
She was too worn out to resist. Her eyes were already aching and puffy, but she couldn’t seem to stop the sobs that spilled from her mouth. He clenched his hands tighter around hers in response, tugging just enough that she sagged against his shoulder—the bars an unpleasant reminder between them—and leaned on him as she cried.  
  
“I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered. It sounded like a prayer, choked and wet and not meant to be heard. “So, so sorry.”  
  
She was too upset to respond, gasping and hurting and too worked up to speak, and she didn’t know what she would have said anyway. For now, it was enough that he was there, anchoring her to reality.  
  
It could have been minutes or hours before the panic shook its way out of her body and left her an exhausted, trembling shell in its wake. She blinked groggily against the gloom, trying to lift her head but finding it too heavy.  
  
“Rest,” Steve said, sensing her disquiet. “I’ve got you.”  
  
As she slipped into an uneasy sleep, Darcy felt a gentle pressure against the top of her head. When he spoke again, Steve’s voice was closer to her ear. “Sleep, Darcy. I’ll keep you safe.”  
  
Her last coherent thought was that even after everything, she believed him.

 

* * *

 

It was difficult to know how quickly time passed, down in the dungeons. Before, Darcy had always managed to escape up the dark winding staircase and back into the world of daylight and warmth within an hour or so. But down there, stuck in the dark for hours upon end, time lost all meaning.   
  
The only thing she really had was the comforting strength of Steve’s grip on her wrist; he hadn't let go, murmuring soothing nonsense to her as she drifted in and out of a fitful doze. Even as disoriented and isolated as they were, she was confused when a large chunk of time seemed to pass and yet there was no arrival of any of the Black Order.  
  
She wasn't vain, but treason supposedly committed by one of the king’s hostages? That was an allegation that could raze kingdoms, and most certainly qualified as an investigation worthy of Thanos’ inner circle.   
  
Yet instead it was just Rumlow again and again, hissing and threatening her with bodily violence—though he didn't enter her cell again, thankfully—and looking more and more deranged. The circles under his eyes got so dark she could barely make out the rest of his facial features in the gloom. His eyes were tired and bloodshot, and his fingers twitched endlessly at his side, like he was constantly imagining them wrapped around her throat.   
  
It was during his sixth or so visit that she finally understood.   
  
“You haven't told them,” she breathed. From the corner of her eye she saw Steve stiffen and stand ramrod straight; he’d taken to looming just past her shoulder as she pressed herself against the bars at the back corner of her cell, within striking distance should Rumlow decide to take his chances and attempt another assault.  
  
The guard captain’s eyes darted back and forth, shooting from the floor to the ceiling and never landing upon her face even as his face contorted into an angry scowl. His foot scraped against stone as he made a threatening half-step forward, only to stop abruptly with his leg awkwardly outstretched. The manacles around Steve’s wrists clanged ominously as they collided with the bars of her cell: a warning.   
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His fist clenched, his jaw ticking in uncontrollable spasms.  
  
“I do.” It was all coming together. “If you’d told anyone, the Black Order would’ve already come and gone and the crows would be picking at my eyeballs.” Behind her, Steve shifted uncomfortably at the imagery but she paid him no mind.  
  
“I bet you got halfway to the throne room, ready to throw me at Thanos’ feet and reap the glory for yourself, before you realized what it would mean for you. Because even if I was passing information from Captain Rogers to someone else in the castle, well—there’s only one place it could have come from. The mouths of you and the rest of your loose-lipped guards, eh, Rumlow?”  
  
He took a step forward, blinded by fury, only to stop once more as she brandished her baton. “Not so fast, Captain. We’re stuck, you and me. I can’t escape, but there’s only so long you can keep me here without a reason.”  
  
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he sneered. “Three days, you’ve been down here, and no one’s missed you. Not even a word or a whisper, wondering where you’ve gone.”  
  
A flash of dark hair, blue eyes, and an easy grin darted across her brain, but Darcy shook it away. If Rumlow went to the kitchens, asking about Steve’s food, then James knew where she was. He was being smart, by staying low. He was doing what was right for him, and for whatever mission he was on. She still felt as though she’d been stabbed in the heart.  
  
Misinterpreting her sudden inhale, the guard captain grinned. “It won’t be long now, little fairy. As soon as I can get into your room and plant some evidence, it’s all over. And if you happen to get _caught_ as you make your desperate bid for freedom from the palace, well—who can blame me for taking your life in the name of defending the crown?”  
  
“You can’t kill me,” Steve seethed, his voice shaking with restrained violence. “You don’t have the power. And I’ll make sure everyone knows what you’ve done.”  
  
“Who’ll listen to the word of a dungeon rat?” Rumlow scoffed. “And anyway, if you do that, there’ll be a kingdom-wide manhunt for whoever you passed those notes to. Tell me, is one little fairy girl worth all that?”   
  
When Steve didn’t answer, Rumlow shook his head mockingly. “You should’ve picked your friends better, girl. You’re going to die, and for what? He doesn’t care about you. After all—”  
  
The loud, clanking steps of a uniformed guard echoed down the hall. “Captain? Are you there?”  
  
Cursing, Rumlow called out for him to stop. Since Darcy’s arrival, none of the guards had been allowed near the cells. It was only ever Rumlow.  
  
“What is it, Ward?”  
  
“Your presence is required in the throne room, Captain,” the guard replied, curiosity blatant in his tone. A single footstep was heard as he moved closer, too drawn by the intrigue to mind his captain’s orders.  
  
“I’ll be right there,” Rumlow answered harshly, and silence fell in the hall. “Return to your post.”  
  
Lowering his voice, he leered at Darcy with menace on his lips and bloodlust in his eyes. “It’s all over for you. You had a chance to buy your freedom, but now I don’t even need to know who you passed the letters along to. You’ll be dead and our king will never be the wiser that anything happened at all.”  
  
“Captain,” the guard called again, cutting off any response she may have made. “King Thanos is asking for you. _Now_.”  
  
Rumlow grunted in acknowledgment and sent him on his way, waiting until the man’s hurried footsteps had faded completely before he turned back to her.  
  
“Enjoy your evening, Lady Darcy. This time tomorrow, you’ll be dead. One way or another.”   
  
The clang of her cell door banging closed punctuated his statement. Silence reigned once more in their little corner of the dungeons. All at once, the futility of her situation crashed down upon her: months of terror, caution, and gritty survival, and it was all for nothing. She was going to die anyway, far from home and with no one to mourn her.  
  
Darcy slumped to the floor, exhausted by months of hypervigilance and the sudden loss of hope. The cold iron of the bars of her cell were a soothing balm against her flushed face. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes unbidden, but she couldn’t bring herself to wipe them away as they streamed over her cheeks. None of it mattered anymore.  
  
A gentle hand reached through the bars, cradling the back of her head. There he was, murmuring soothing lies in that deep, tender voice of his.  
  
“Don’t give up hope, sweet Darcy,” Steve murmured. “All is not lost. Bucky won’t leave you here to die. _He won’t._ ”  
  
“Don't lie to me,” she pleaded, staring up at him through her dirty and matted hair. “Between you and James, you've done that enough. Please. No more.”  
  
He paused, mouth half-open like he wanted to argue with her. Instead, he sank his fingertips into her hair and rubbed gentle circles at the nape of her neck.   
  
“I’m here,” he finally said. “I’m here with you.”  
  
For whatever reason, that simple truth was reassuring. She leaned into his touch and let go. After months of constant terror her muscles screamed against the urge to relax, but there was no more reason to fight. The soothing rhythm of his fingers was hypnotizing; she slipped into the realm between reality and dreams, uncaring of the passage of time. Her limbs were heavy, her mind at peace—after all her efforts, after everything, her fate was out of her hands.  
  
“In spite of everything,” she murmured, nuzzling her cheek into his outstretched wrist, “I’m glad you’re here with me. Here, at the end of it all.”  
  
“It’s not the end,” he vowed, but she was already asleep.

 

* * *

 

A loud bang and the sound of yelling pulled her from her fitful sleep. Steve was already on his feet, hovering over her like a vengeful guardian. The sound of thudding footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Darcy scrambled to stand upright.   
  
Her heart pounded in her ears, deafening as it pumped blood through her veins and filled her with the determination to survive. Her despair from the previous evening was gone, burned from her veins with the rising dawn.   
  
She would fight.  
  
Steve clearly had the same idea. It was impossible to hear the commotion in the hall over the sound of his manacles repeatedly striking the bars between their cells. He was a man possessed, ignoring the cuts made by the vibranium shackles as they bit deeply into his skin with every strike.  
  
Temporarily ignoring the approach of her executioner, Darcy begged Steve to stop injuring himself. She couldn’t look away from the blood that ran in rivulets down the creases of his hands to puddle on the floor, knowing that he’d permanently maim himself if he continued for much longer. She appreciated his determination to save her, but she knew that his brute strength was no match for the magically-imbued restraints.  
  
“Steve,” she said, raising her voice over the sound of his banging. “Steve, you have to stop.” There was the crack of bone—something in his wrist, she was almost positive—but he continued on until she finally grasped his fingers between hers.  
  
“Steve,” she said, gently squeezing until his distraught gaze met hers. “There’s nothing you can do to change what’s coming. Stop.”  
  
“I don’t know about that,” a familiar voice said.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments make the world go 'round.


	5. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it, folks! This might be one of my favorite things I've ever written; I adore this 'verse. I hope you enjoyed it, too.

Not believing her ears, Darcy reached for her stun baton before turning to face the cell door. She caught sight of the man outside her cell… and blinked.   
  
“James?”  
  
“Hey, sweet girl.” Even covered in blood and gore, his smile made her heart skip a beat. “Let's get you out of there, what do you say?”  
  
She stood, blinking at him in disbelief, wondering if he was some kind of fever dream. Like the heat visions travelers sometimes talked about, when they visited the Enchanted Kingdom. Darcy almost turned to Steve to see what his reaction was to the apparition at the mouth of her cell, but she couldn't bear to tear her eyes away from the man in front of her.   
  
James approached the mouth of the cell like he would a wild horse, hands out in front and slow, easy steps. With cautious movements, he pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.   
  
“Are you okay, love?” When she didn't answer him, still gaping like a fish, he stepped inside and shot a quick glance toward the other prisoner. “Is she alright? Did they hurt her, Stevie?”  
  
“No,” the blonde replied. “I think she's in shock. I told her you would come, but she didn't believe me.”  
  
With a softly chiding look, James closed the distance between them and reached out to take her hand. He ignored the one still clutching the baton like a lifeline, perhaps understanding even better than she just how close she was to a breakdown.   
  
“I was never going to abandon you, Darcy.” Feeling the way her fingers trembled between his, his eyes softened. “I wouldn’t just leave you here. I'm sorry it took me so long, though.”  
  
“Rumlow?” Steve asked quietly, giving her a little time to wrap her head around it all.   
  
Mouth pressed into a thin, hard line, James replied, “He got what he deserved.”  
  
She couldn’t help the violent shudder that wracked her body, thinking of the guard captain’s hateful eyes and leering threats. James immediately enveloped her into his arms, pulling her close until her nose was smashed against the wool of his coat. Darcy breathed him in, relaxing into his hold. Despite the urgency of the situation, he seemed content to allow her a moment. She felt safe for the first time in days.   
  
“What’s the plan?” Steve whispered, carding a gentle hand through the tangled hair at the nape of her neck.  
  
“I’ve cleared us a path out of the castle through the kitchens—uniforms are waiting upstairs, and I know the lads on duty won’t say a word—” He cut himself off, distracted by the rhythmic drip of Steve’s blood hitting the floor. “What the _hell_ , Steve? How did you get injured?”  
  
“I thought you were Rumlow,” the other man stated simply.  
  
“For fuck’s sake, you should’ve said something about your wrists instead of letting me go on and on,” James growled, tugging lightly at Darcy’s waist to coax her in the direction of the door. “Come on, Darce, we need to get those suppression cuffs off our boy before he gets himself killed out of sheer stupidity.”  
  
“Hey, no need to be rude,” Steve grumbled good-naturedly, stumbling slightly as he moved to meet them at the end of his chain. After opening the door, James pulled another key from the ring. With a resounding click, the manacles fell to the ground with a thud, shiny and slick with Steve’s blood. The sight turned Darcy’s stomach, and she pressed her face into James’ shoulder.  
  
“It’s alright, Darcy. I’ll be good as new in just a moment. See?” Steve’s voice was calm and steady; curious, she turned her head. Only to gawk in disbelief at the way his flesh immediately knitted itself back together. After only a moment or two, it was like he’d never been wounded at all. He briskly rubbed the excess blood from his newly-healed wrists and grinned.   
  
“There. All done.” Unable to help herself, Darcy reached out to brush her finger along his wristbone in wonder. He turned his hand over slowly, allowing her to inspect the result of his enhanced healing abilities. “Impressive, huh?”  
  
“You Avengers people are very strange,” she rejoined, blushing slightly as she finally removed her hand from his skin. Her fingertips felt cold from the loss of contact, twitching as she dropped them to her side.  
  
“So says the lovely Enchanted girl,” James snorted. He clapped a hand to Steve’s shoulder, all too aware of how much time they’d spent lingering in hostile territory. “Come on, Steve. Let's get our girl home, yeah?”  
  
“ _Our_ girl?” Steve checked, sounding curious and vaguely amused.   
  
“Are you saying she's not?” James asked, staring at his friend over her head.   
  
“Whatever the two of you are talking about,” Darcy interjected, faint and dizzy and eager to finally escape the site of her own personal hell, “can it wait? We have more important things to do than bicker and talk in secret code.”  
  
“It's no secret, Darcy.” James laid a gentle kiss on her brow before pulling away to lead her by the hand. “And I'll be happy to enlighten you later, but you're correct—for now we need to focus on getting out of the castle. Preferably alive.”  
  
 _“Preferably?”_ Darcy swayed a little as she followed him down the hall, scraping her knuckles against the wall.  
  
“Bucky, wait,” Steve ordered, moving forward to catch her.  
  
“What? What is it?” When he caught sight of the deathly pallor of Darcy’s face, his eyes widened. He stepped forward and slid one hand along her jaw. “Darcy, what’s wrong? Are you injured?”  
  
Her head lolled into his grip as spots colored her vision, seeking out the warmth of his skin.  
  
“She hasn’t eaten in days,” Steve said, “and she’s in desperate need of the sun.” When James stared at him in incomprehension, he murmured, “It’s an _Enchanted_ thing.”  
  
Darcy snorted, slurring, “I’ll be okay. We need… to get out of here. If we can get out of the dungeons, I’ll be better.”  
  
“Alright. New plan: Steve, can you help her up the staircase? I’ll get us out of the castle and then you can take point.”  
  
Steve slung Darcy’s arm across his shoulders in lieu of an answer. “Lead the way, Buck. I’m fucking sick of these dungeons.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy was only slightly aware of the next several hours. She remembered clinging to Steve as they climbed dizzily through the dark, following the lure of James’ voice. It gradually got lighter, every ray of sunshine lending strength to her weary limbs, and she vaguely remembered climbing into a serving maid’s uniform at one point due to James and Steve’s urging. They hadn’t listened when she slurred at them to turn their backs, too worried that she’d fall over if they took their eyes off her for even one second.   
  
She didn’t remember much about the actual escape from the castle—a lot of keeping her head down, James’ tense shoulders and the band of iron that was Steve’s arm wrapped around her waist. Falling asleep in some kind of carriage and waking up on the road.  
  
Her head was tucked into the crook of James’ neck, her legs draped across his lap. The arm that wrapped around her waist tightened as she moved.  
  
“Are you awake, love?”  
  
She yawned, smacking her lips a little as she blinked the grit out of her eyes. When she looked up, James was watching her with a little grin.   
  
“I’ll take that as a _kind of_. The sun’s still out. If it’ll help, you can sit up front with Steve. We’re far enough away from the castle that it should be alright.”  
  
“How long have we been traveling?” she asked, rubbing her cheek against the wool of his coat and enjoying the scratchiness of it against her skin. It was amazing, how alive she felt.  
  
“About half the day, now.”  
  
Darcy hummed in acknowledgment. She leaned against him for a moment longer, allowing herself the luxury of slowing shaking off her sleepy stupor before she moved to join Steve in the sun. She could feel the sunshine even from where she sat under the canvas roof; it soaked into her skin and warmed her lungs. For the first time in days, she could draw breath without feeling as though she was slowly suffocating.  
  
Beneath her, James’ muscles tensed a little. “Darcy…”  
  
“No.” She knew what he wanted to say, knew that he’d probably been biting back an explanation and an apology ever since he’d come to rescue them from the dungeons. “I can’t do this right now.”  
  
He sighed. “Alright. We’ll… talk about it later? I have so much to apologize for, Darcy, and I know it.”  
  
“Maybe,” she said halfheartedly, “if we survive.” She didn’t want to think about what he’d done, or why he’d done it. She wanted to ignore the pain of the betrayal and the way her heart still hurt at his lack of trust. Overcome with the need to escape, she clambered gracelessly to her feet.  
  
“I’ll hold you to that,” he replied under his breath, steadying her with one hand when she swayed. He didn’t say anything when she immediately pulled away, though she could have sworn she saw something like pain flash across his face. Ignoring her reaction, he called, “Steve, can you give Darcy a hand? She needs some sunshine.”  
  
A hand came back to help her climb over the bench. She settled herself in alongside Steve and closed her eyes against the sun.   
  
“Feeling better?”  
  
At his words, her eyes snapped open. Darcy’s embarrassment at almost falling asleep all over again was lost in the wake of her surprise. Unable to help herself, she stared. And stared, and stared. With a clean, rough sewn shirt and linen trousers, Steve looked nothing like the prisoner she’d come to know over the past half-year. And with the blood and dirt cleaned off his face and his beard trimmed— _how had they found the time_ , she wondered—he was almost unrecognizable. All in all, it was a very good look on him, and she had to swallow around a suddenly parched throat.  
  
“Looked that bad, did I?” Steve teased, jerking her out of her shock.   
  
She blushed and looked away, then decided to just be herself. No more demure ladylike nonsense; she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.   
  
“Yeah,” she said with a grin, “I almost don’t recognize you without all the blood and dirt. Who knew you had such beautiful features under all that mess?”  
  
He laughed, loud and long. “Oh, you’ll fit in just fine, Lady Darcy.”  
  
“If you say so,” she murmured, settling into the bench to soak up the sun and Steve’s companionship. The relief of escape was crashing down upon her, leaving a strange mix of elation and utter exhaustion to seep into her bones.   
  
Long minutes passed in comfortable silence. Darcy could feel herself starting to fall asleep again, so she shuffled into a more upright position.  
  
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she said, needing a distraction to keep herself awake.   
  
Glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, Steve took one hand from the reins to pass her a freshly-baked roll. Smeared liberally with butter, it was heavenly. She only narrowly avoided groaning out loud at the divine taste of it on her tongue. At that moment, it was the best thing she’d ever eaten.  
  
“I actually love potatoes,” Steve admitted sheepishly, drawing her attention away from the ambrosia melting in her mouth.  
  
Surprised, Darcy barked out a laugh before realizing what that meant.  
  
As if sensing he’d stepped into sensitive territory, Steve glanced at her from the corner of his eye.  
  
“You know, if you’re mad at him you need to be mad at me, too.”  
  
She opened her mouth to retort, then thought better of it. He wasn’t wrong. She just didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember the hurt, the betrayal, the fear that they too would abandon her once her usefulness had run out.  
  
“I know,” was all she said.  
  
Squinting up at the path of the sun in the sky, Steve shot her a look. “We’ve still got hours before we can make camp. Why don’t you go talk to him, Darcy?”  
  
“I don’t want—”  
  
“I know you don’t. But we’ll be traveling for days trying to evade Thanos and the Black Order, and we need to be able to trust each other. You need to clear the air, you and Bucky. He’s practically bursting with the need to apologize. Won’t you at least hear him out?”  
  
“Fine. If you wanted to get rid of me, you could’ve just said so,” she spat, standing up from the bench.  
  
“Hey,” he said, reaching out to snag her wrist before she could storm back into the back of the carriage. “Hey, that’s not it at all. I need my turn to apologize too, you know. The last thing I want is to get rid of you—I just—I can feel this eating all of us alive. Alright?”  
  
She knew what he meant; she could feel it too. The unease and distrust starting to eat away at her insides, burning her alive with insecurity.   
  
“Alright.”  
  
The smile he shot in her direction was blinding. Kissing her knuckles tenderly, he released her hand. “Good. That doesn’t mean you can’t give us hell, you know?”  
  
“Oh, I mean to,” she promised, smiling for the first time since the conversation had taken a turn for the serious.  
  
James was expertly slicing a wheel of cheese when she climbed back through. After a quick glance at her improved complexion, he offered her several pieces.   
  
“You’re looking better,” he mused, grinning at the way her eyes closed as she let the taste of it linger on her tongue. She wasn’t even embarrassed—after days of little to nothing to eat, the cheese tasted like a veritable feast. “It’s amazing what a little bit of sunshine can do, hey? Sunshine and cheese.”  
  
She shrugged, picking at a crumble of cheese as she decided what to say. James let her marshal her thoughts in peace, focusing on assembling a mixture of cheese, bread, and butter to pass up to Steve.   
  
By the time he’d returned to his seat, she’d found her words.  
  
“Was it that you didn’t trust me?”  
  
His mouth dropped open in surprise at her bitter question, knife wedged halfway through the cheese. With a rough swallow, he set it aside and turned his full focus on her. “No, not at all. Darcy, love, I swear that isn’t why I didn’t tell you.”  
  
“About the letters, you mean? Or about the truth of who you are, James? I thought we were—” she faltered, not able to put their relationship into words, because surely friends didn’t encompass it— “I thought we were close, but…”  
  
“We _are_ , Darcy,” James interjected when she trailed off, reaching out for her before thinking better of it. As he pulled his hand back into his body, he continued, “I know I didn’t tell you the truth of who I was or why I was in the castle—I was under a secrecy oath, love, so I couldn’t have told you even if I tried—but all of those moments that were just _us_? That’s all real.”  
  
“I want to believe you,” she whispered, dropping her head to hid the tear that trailed down her cheek. “For months, you were my only lifeline in that goddess-forsaken castle, my only true friend. And then I got thrown in that dungeon. Because of something you’d done, that you hadn’t told me about.”  
  
“I’m so sorry.” His voice was broken and sad. “I should’ve found another way, a way to pass Steve’s information along that didn’t put you in danger.”  
  
“That’s not what I’m upset about,” she hissed. “If you’d asked, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I hate Thanos with every bone in my body, and I would do anything to tear him down. I was willing to die to protect you and your mission, you know? But you didn’t _ask_. If you had, I would’ve told you about Rumlow and the way he was following me around, suspicious and watchful and hoping to catch me in an act of treason.”  
  
James’ face darkened with fury at the mention of the guard captain. “I didn’t kill him slow enough, I don’t think.”  
  
When she only stared at him, he sighed. “There are a lot of things I wish I’d done differently, Darcy, and I can’t express how sorry I am for betraying your trust and putting you in danger. I didn’t have much of a choice, but it happened anyway. I just—I don’t know how to restore your faith in me. What can I do?”  
  
She didn’t know. The words he used made sense, and he certainly seemed sincere. But the last time she trusted him at his word, she’d ended up in the dungeons.   
  
“Where are we going?” she asked after a moment, testing to see if he was willing to tell her the truth.  
  
Blinking in surprise, he answered, “You don’t remember? Nevermind, you were almost unconscious for the first several hours of our escape. We’re headed to report to the rightful King of the Nine Realms. Thor has set up camp along the border of Vanaheim—he’s got widespread support there, and it’s within striking distance of the castle, so that we’ll be ready when it’s time to remove the usurper.”  
  
“You’re taking me to meet Prince Thor?” Darcy couldn’t contain her surprise. “And then what?”  
  
“Steve and I will make our reports, and then we’ll most likely prepare for war. There’s no more time to waste. As for you… well, you’re a free woman now, Darcy. You can do whatever you like. Although I hope you know that you’ll always have a home with Steve and me.”  
  
She wondered what he meant by that, what to make of the intensity of his gaze as he said the words, but set the thought aside as his words sank in. After everything, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Darcy could go back home to the Enchanted Kingdom and her people, she supposed, although she questioned whether she’d be able to fall back into life as it had been before the war. Before the months she lived as a glorified hostage, before her imprisonment.   
  
Before she’d met James and Steve, if she was completely honest with herself. She wasn’t ready for that kind of introspection, though.  
  
Overwhelmed, she abruptly stood up. “I need some air,” she declared, stumbling toward the flap that led to the outside world.  
  
“Alright,” James said softly. She didn’t miss the way his face fell as she moved away from him.  
  
“James?”  
  
“Yeah?” he asked, offering her a sad smile that tore her heart out.   
  
“Thank you, for the apology and for being honest.” _Finally_ , a spiteful part of her wanted to add, but she swallowed it back. Bitterness and grudges wouldn’t help anything, and she really did want to forgive him. She wanted to be able to trust him again, she just didn’t know how. “I just need a little time.”  
  
“I’d expect nothing less, love. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

 

* * *

 

Steve took one look at her face and winced. “It went that well, huh?”  
  
“What?” she asked, her mind still on the conversation with James. “Oh. It could’ve been worse, I guess.”  
  
“And?” he prompted when she didn’t continue immediately.  
  
“And… I don’t know. I believe that he’s sorry.”  
  
“But you still don’t trust him.”  
  
“It’s not that, not really.” She huffed a little, then tried to explain. “This just—the two of you, and me, it feels temporary. Like there’s no need to trust me with your plans or whatever because I won’t be around long enough to affect them. I’m just a distraction.”  
  
“Did he imply that?” Steve growled. A strange mix of bewilderment and fury overtook his expression. “That makes no sense, he wouldn’t—”  
  
“No!” she interjected. “No, he didn’t imply that. It’s just—well, he still didn’t tell me about your mission or why it’s so important that we head straight to Prince Thor’s camp. After everything, it feels like a rather obvious clue, doesn’t it?”  
  
Steve’s mouth worked for a moment before he expelled a frustrated sigh. “Darcy, did he tell you why he didn’t confide in you in the first place?”  
  
“Yes. Something about an oath of secrecy. But surely we’re beyond that now? Unless you really don’t see me sticking around for much longer, in which case…”  
  
It was Steve’s turn to interject. “No, that’s not it at all. For one, the only way you aren’t sticking around for good is if you decide you don’t want to, Darcy. And even then, I can’t guarantee we won’t try to change your mind. As for the oath of secrecy, I think we’re having a cultural misunderstanding. I’m sure Bucky thought you knew what it meant.”  
  
“I’m not an idiot,” she spat. “I can understand what an oath of secrecy is. Obviously he swore to his superior that he wouldn’t tell anyone about his mission, and that includes me.”  
  
“No, wait. Wait, Darcy.” He tapped at her wrist with a firm finger, making sure he had her full attention. “That is what an oath of secrecy is, yes, but you’re missing the most important part. An oath of secrecy isn’t just a description—it’s literal. As in magically binding. From the moment he made the oath, James became physically unable to tell another living soul anything about it. It’s a protective measure. The fact that we found ways to tell you anything at all—like the fact that we’re headed to report to Thor, for example—shows exactly how desperate James and I are to earn your trust, and how much we trust you in return.”  
  
She leaned back into her seat, overtaken with surprise. “But I’ve never heard of anything like that.”  
  
“And we’d never heard of the Enchanted’s special relationship to the sun, before we met you,” he remarked pointedly. Sensing how overwhelmed she was feeling, Steve tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and murmured, “There’s lots for you to think about, I’m sure, but we’ve got time. And there still a few hours of sunlight left. Why don’t you just sit there and soak them in a little?”  
  
Darcy nodded absently, deciding that she should take the opportunity to shut off her brain for a while before it completely melted from a prolonged state of pure confusion. She closed her eyes, reveling in the way the sun warmed the backs of her eyelids. Drifting into yet another doze was easy when she could hear Steve’s low murmur to the horses and Bucky’s tuneless humming from inside the carriage.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week passed in something of a blur. They were all focused on reaching Prince Thor’s stronghold as quickly as possible, knowing that the longer they went without reaching safety the more likely it was that a member of the Black Order would catch up to them.  
  
Darcy was relatively subdued for the remainder of the trip; she had a lot to think about, and little to no time to herself. As such, she was helpful but quiet, and almost always lost in her own thoughts. For their part, Steve and James treated her like spun glass. They were careful to include her in discussions about which route they should take or the chances that they were being pursued.   
  
Darcy, it turned out, had a lot of insight into the members of the Black Order after her months living and eating alongside them, and it was due in no small part to her knowledge that on the sixth day of traveling they arrived safely to a nondescript forest situated along Asgard’s border with Vanaheim.  
  
“This is it?” she asked skeptically when Steve pulled the carriage to stop in the middle of the narrow forest road. “This is where the Crown Prince of Asgard spends his nights?”  
  
It was, indeed. At least, according to the stunningly-beautiful dark-skinned man who seemed to appear out of thin air. Steve and James both addressed him in respectful tones and guided Darcy along in his wake. She couldn’t stop staring at the trees in awe, admiring the dwellings that had been built high among the branches. For all her irreverent joking, she was amazed at their resourcefulness.  
  
She wasn’t even looking where they were headed—trusting James and Steve to guide her without injury—when a familiar voice shouted her name.  
  
“Darcy! Darcy, is that you?! Oh, thank the goddess!”  
  
Her head whipped around. There was no way she’d heard correctly, because—   
  
_“Jane?”_  
  
It was her best friend, alive and in the flesh, much to Darcy’s astonishment. They fell into each other’s arms, laughing and crying and completely unconcerned with the gawking stares of the men around them.  
  
“Darcy, it is you! Oh, goddess. I’d heard you were held hostage by Thanos—I’m so glad you survived. But how did you escape?”  
  
“How did _I_ escape? How did you make it out of the war alive? The last I saw you were being carted off. I never heard a word about you again, Jane, and I thought—I thought—”  
  
“Shh, I’m here, safe and sound,” Jane soothed, her arms tight around Darcy’s shoulders. “I’ve been perfectly alright. But I’m so glad you escaped, Darce. I’ve been so worried about you.”  
  
“And I’m sure it’s a tale worth telling,” a deep voice cut in, “but perhaps you might take the Lady Darcy to our quarters, my love, where you might have a little more privacy?”  
  
Jane pulled away to face the newcomer, and Darcy bit back an exclamation of surprise.   
  
“Your majesty,” she murmured, dropping into a half-curtsy. She was afraid if she dipped any lower, she’d fall over from stress and exhaustion.  
  
His answering smile was kind. “Lady Darcy. I’ve heard much about you from Jane. Unfortunately, at the moment I need to catch up with Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes. If you would please excuse my rudeness, I’ll join you later?”  
  
Her best friend answered the affirmative for both of them while Darcy tried to hide her surprise at James’ title—and his surname, which she’d never actually learned. Melancholy thoughts about secrets and doubts were swept away in the tide of Jane’s excitement, however, and Darcy was happy enough to be pulled along in her wake.  
  
When they were out of earshot of the soldiers, Darcy gathered her wits enough to tease, “ _Love_ , Jane? The Crown Prince of Asgard calls you _love_?”  
  
“Captain Rogers?” Jane rejoined, “ _and_ Sergeant Barnes? My, my, Darcy.” She cackled at Darcy’s blush.   
  
“In all seriousness, though,” she said, opening the door to her home and gesturing Darcy inside, “they’re good men. You could do far worse.”  
  
“Yeah,” Darcy said, spinning in a circle to take in the decor.  It was just so… Jane. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and she was still in disbelief that she was there with her friend, talking about men and relationships as if they hadn’t been separated by war and death. “But two men?”  
  
“Oh, come on, I never took you to be one of those die-hard traditionalists. The Goddess would love it. And it’s even more common in Asgard, you know.”  
  
“I don’t even know if there’s interest, on their part,” Darcy equivocated, and Jane rolled her eyes.  
  
“Oh, please. Sell that dragon dung to someone who might actually buy it.” Patting the covers on her bed, she said, “Now come over here and cuddle with me. It’s been over a year and I need to hear what’s happened to you.”  
  
“Ooh, what will Prince Thor think?” Darcy teased, snorting as Jane smacked her with a limp pillow.  
  
“Maybe he’ll think I want to form a triad,” Jane shot back, shouting with laughter when Darcy tackled her. 

 

* * *

 

Hours later, as they cuddled against each other in Jane and Thor’s bed and swapped post-war stories, Jane circled back to James and Steve.  
  
“Tell me about them,” she ordered.  
  
Darcy paused, then sighed.  
  
“I’m in love with them,” she confessed, admitting it to herself for the first time. “Both of them.”  
  
“I could’ve told you that,” Jane teased, only to sober once she caught sight of the look on her best friend’s face. “Sorry. Tell me about it, about them.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Darcy hedged as she ran a hand through her hair, which was clean for the first time in well over a week. “Steve was a prisoner for months, you know? And there was always a guard around, and we couldn’t talk about a lot of things… but there’s just something about him. Something about the way he looks at me, and how he sliced his wrist to the bone in his determination to protect me from Rumlow. I can’t explain it.”  
  
“Rumlow? Who is that?” Fury vibrated in Jane’s voice, and Darcy could just picture her riding off on a quest for vengeance.  
  
“Guard Captain. He liked to harass me, wanted to frame me for leaking intelligence, and threw me in the dungeons. James killed him.”  
  
“Good,” was all Jane had to say on the matter, slightly appeased. “Speaking of James…”  
  
With an exasperated breath, Darcy blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah. James.”  
  
“This is the one that's giving you trouble,” Jane remarked knowingly.   
  
“I guess. No, you're right. It's just that, for over a year he was the only person I trusted in that entire kingdom. I told him about my fears, my hopes, the history of our people—I confided in him, Jane, about things I never would have dared to tell another soul.”  
  
“Right.” With a sympathetic expression, Jane prompted, “And you feel betrayed, because he didn't tell you about his mission?”  
  
“Not so much that, anymore. Steve explained about the oath of secrecy, and I understand now that he _literally_ couldn't tell me anything. It's more like…”  
  
Her throat clogged, choked with emotion. Jane reached over to grip her hand reassuringly.   
  
“It's more that I don't know if it was real,” Darcy continued after a moment. “Now that his mission is complete and he achieved what he wanted, I'm not sure he'll care so much about me anymore. The same goes for Steve. I care about both of them so much, but how do I know that I'm not just a means to an end for them?”  
  
With an abrupt squeeze of the hand, Jane rolled out of bed. “Come on. I have something to show you.”  
  
“What? Jane, what the hell. I'm pouring my heart out to you over here!”  
  
“I know, and it's very sad to watch. Now, _come on_.”  
  
Knowing that there would be absolutely no reasoning with her, Darcy grumbled before following her friend back down to the main village. Finger pressed to her lips, Jane silently led her around to a massive tent located at the edge of the clearing. The beautiful dark-skinned man from before was standing on guard.   
  
“Milady,” he murmured to Jane, taking in her slightly guilty expression. When his gaze slid to Darcy, she was surprised to recognize a spark of mischief in his too-knowing amber eyes. “The call of the songbird is particularly strong near the alder trees, should you have the inclination to listen.”  
  
“Thank you, Heimdall. I think we shall.” Jane grinned, shot the man a wink, and then dragged Darcy around the side of the tent.   
  
“What are we doing?” Darcy whispered furiously, watching in utter confusion as Jane sprawled gracelessly on the ground and pressed her ear to the bottom edge of the tent’s canvas.   
  
Instead of replying, Jane gestured her forward. Listen, she mouthed, and jerked her head toward the voices coming from within.   
  
Following her lead, Darcy pressed her face against the slight gap between the wall of the tent and the ground. Vaguely, she wondered what would happen if they got caught. Surely Prince Thor wouldn’t punish his own consort? The thought drifted away as the people assembled began to speak again—Prince Thor, James, Steve, and several men and women whose faces she didn’t recognize. One of the women looked oddly familiar, and Darcy had to stifle a gasp; it was the redhead from the feast, whose quick maneuvering had saved her from Rumlow.  
  
“Now that we’ve wasted _hours_ on the pleasantries,” drawled a man with jet-black hair, face set into a sarcastic sneer, “perhaps we can get to the heart of the matter. Namely, why Barnes and Rogers abandoned their mission?”  
  
Darcy’s heart stuttered to a stop as she reeled with shock, thudding in her ears until she could hardly hear anything over the sound of her own heartbeat. She felt as though she’d been punched in the gut, and her whole world turned on its head for the second time in a week.  
  
“Loki’s tone leaves much to be desired,” noted Thor, “but he has a point. What happened, James?”  
  
Standing tall and unashamed, James admitted, “They were going to kill Darcy. That bastard Rumlow caught her with the notes Steve was passing. He threw her in the dungeons for three days—one of the _Enchanted_ , Thor, I know you know what that means—and was going to kill her. Steve and I did what we had to do, and we don’t regret it.”  
  
“Is this true?” Thor questioned Steve, cutting through the shocked whispers of the others in the room.  
  
“Yes,” Steve confirmed. Without missing a beat, he added, “And if I’d been in Bucky’s position, I would have made the same choice. It was never a question.”  
  
“You abandoned your mission, jeopardizing months’ worth of subterfuge and intelligence work, by the way, for a _girl_?!” The dark-haired man—Loki, she remembered—practically vibrated with fury. James and Steve stared back at him, unfazed by the show of temper. “Of all the stupid, idiotic, foolhardy—”  
  
“She’s my Jane.” When it came, James’ voice was calm and quiet.   
  
He could barely be heard under the cacophony of noise in the room, but Prince Thor immediately raised a hand in the air to draw silence.  
  
“What did you say?”  
  
“She’s my Jane, Thor.” Apparently, that’s all there was to it. The silence was so thick it was practically tangible in the room as everyone waited for their leader’s response.  
  
The prince turned to Steve. “And you?”  
  
“She’s _our_ Jane,” the captain amended his friend’s statement, shooting him a quick, conspiratorial grin. “You know we’d give our lives to the cause, Thor, but we couldn’t abandon her. Won’t abandon her.”  
  
“Alright.” Prince Thor sighed. “How do we move forward, then?”  
  
 _“Alright?”_ The pitch of Loki’s voice was rapidly approaching an undignified shriek. “They ruin months of work and you say it’s alright because it’s true love or whatever superstition you sods are stupid enough to believe in? I cannot believe I work with such—”  
  
“We’re moving on, Loki. That’s all I have to say on the matter. Are you able to stay and contribute meaningfully to the discussion or is your fury so blinding that you have nothing but snide remarks and insults ready to roll off your tongue?”  
  
Loki glared ferociously at everyone in the room, clearly biting his tongue, but he didn’t leave. A heavy silence fell before James stepped in to break it.  
  
“Darcy has the most comprehensive understanding of that castle, the Black Order, and even Thanos himself of anyone I met while I was on mission. Her knowledge is invaluable, and you’d be a fool to waste that resource. With her insight, I believe we can still maintain the original timeline.”  
  
“But that’s not why you saved her,” Loki sneered, clearly unable to help himself.  
  
“No, it’s not.” James lifted his chin, clearly proud of the choice he’d made.  
  
“Enough!” the prince barked, pulling their attention before the conversation could get derailed yet again. “We have too much to be done for petty squabbling. James, tell me what you’re thinking.”  
  
Jane tugged on Darcy’s arm, pulling her away from the tent and back toward the home Jane shared with Thor.  
  
“So,” she said, once they were ensconced in the private listening space and away from curious ears. Her eyes glowed with barely-restrained happiness for her friend. “That was enlightening, wasn’t it?”  
  
Darcy’s eyes were glued to the trees of the forest, staring without seeing as she tried to recategorize everything she thought she’d known from the past year of her life.  
  
“Yes,” she finally said.  
  
“So, what are you going to do about it?”  
  
She grinned. “The only thing I can.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Heimdall led Darcy back to the tent—through the front flap, this time—Thor was alone.  
  
“I want to help,” she declared. “I want those bastards to burn for everything they’ve done.”  
  
The prince smiled, not at all surprised by her offer. “And I want you to help.”  
  
“Good. Where do we begin?”

 

* * *

 

It was full night by the time she found them, laughing and talking with their fellow soldiers. Their cheeks were rosy with the strength of Asgardian mead, hers with determination.  
  
“Is there somewhere we can talk?”  
  
They didn’t hesitate to say goodbye to the group. She took Steve’s proffered hand, letting him interlace their fingers and tug her in the direction of one of the little temporary tents that had been set up upon their arrival. James followed at a more sedate pace, clearly still hesitant around her. Frowning, she reached for him. He moved closer, cautious but willing to follow her lead. She smoothed her fingertips down his forearm, flicking her nails playfully against his wrist before twining her fingers through his.  
  
Steve pulled her along, and she in turn pulled James. And then they were in the tent, exposed in the lamplight and suddenly shy around each other. Darcy wished she’d had the forethought to drink some mead, herself.  A little liquid courage wouldn’t be amiss.  
  
“Darcy?” Steve moved close, so close she could feel his body heat, and peered at her expression with a dopey grin on his face. Whether it was from the mead or the relief of having made it home, she wasn’t sure.  
  
 _Home._ The thought arced through her brain, hot and forceful like the afterimage of a lightning strike in the desert. It was blinding.  
  
“I’m okay,” she said, shaking clear of its hold on her. Oh, how she ached with wanting it. Wanting home, with them. “You’re going to war.”  
  
Cautiously, he nodded. It wasn’t anything she didn’t already know, after all. She inhaled, held her breath for a moment, then let it out.  
  
“I just wanted to—” She paused, looking for James. He’d moved back slightly, allowing her space with Steve. For the second time that night, she reached for him. When he stepped forward without hesitation to take her hand once more, she offered him a brilliant smile. As he moved closer, she braced a gentle hand against Steve’s chest. His hand came up to cradle hers against him, and she had to close her eyes against the rightness of it, of the way she was so connected to the two of them.  
  
Opening her eyes, she blinked against the light and then met their curious gazes. “I wanted to tell you, both of you, that I’m with you. I’ve already spoken with Prince Thor, and I’m helping with the fight.”  
  
Immediately, Steve’s face lit up with a brilliant joy. He tugged her to him and pressed a reverent kiss to her temple. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that,” he murmured into her ear. When she turned her head, he stared down at her with something akin to devotion. With her heart pounding in her chest, she pressed the tiniest of kisses to the corner of his mouth.  
  
Then she stepped away, looking at James. And though he still held her hand, unwilling to pull away, he was looking at the two of them with something like bittersweet disappointment. Like he thought he’d lost his chance. She squeezed his fingers, refusing to let him suffer. Cautious hope suffused his expression in the wake of her touch, and she smiled.  
  
She leaned her head against Steve’s chest, whose arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, and tugged James closer. When he was only a step away, she let go of his hand. “You said something once, James, about me always having a home with the two of you. I need you to tell me what you meant, because I want—I want—” Her words failed her, in the end.  
  
But it was okay, because the naked hope in James’ face meant he understood. Steve’s arms tightened around her shoulders, and when he dropped a frantic kiss to the top of her head she knew he understood as well.  
  
James’ mouth worked, his throat bobbing as he tried to speak, but he couldn’t find the words.   
  
It was Steve who said, “You do have a home with us, Darcy. Forever. And in all meanings of the word.”  
  
“I want my home to be with you,” she confessed. “With each of you, with both of you. I want it all.”  
  
“You have it all,” Steve promised, and then he swooped down to kiss her.   
  
It was almost bruising in its joy, and Darcy moaned at the intensity of his mouth on hers, of the assertive way he claimed her lips and swept his tongue inside her eager mouth. She melted into him, mindless to everything but the feeling of his body under her hands and the way his kiss swept through her like wildfire. When they pulled apart, she stared up at him dazedly. He grinned down at her with unabashed happiness and pressed several soft, quick kisses to her swollen lips. Then, he cut his eyes over to James and stepped back.  
  
When she turned to face him, James chuckled. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?” he asked, carding gentle fingers through her mussed hair. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to kiss her, and she frowned. “Darcy…”  
  
In a flash, she understood.  
  
“You silly man,” she chastised, reaching out to pull him close. Cupping her hand against his cheek, she said, “I meant it. I want each of you, both of you. Not just him.”  
  
He closed his eyes against her words and leaned into her touch. His eyes, once he opened them again, were full of devotion and an emotion she was almost afraid to name. She could hardly breathe beneath the weight of it, but still he hesitated.  
  
“I trust you,” she whispered, and then she rose up to meet his mouth with hers.   
  
The kiss was soft and sweet and tender, as though he was afraid she’d disappear at any moment. His lips sipped at hers, nibbling the corner of her mouth and tracing the length of her bottom lip with his tongue. He savored her like they had all the time in the world. And, she supposed, they did.  
  
“Glad we’re on the same page,” Steve teased, once they’d eventually pulled apart.   
  
With one last kiss to the corner of her mouth, James turned her in his arms so that she was facing their third. She tilted her head to one side, allowing James room to press gentle nips along the slope of her shoulder. Watching the way Steve’s eyes darkened at the sight, she quirked an eyebrow in his direction and grinned at him devilishly.  
  
Blushing, Steve cleared his throat. “So. What now?”  
  
“Now,” James mused, not lifting his mouth from the tender spot where Darcy’s neck met her shoulder, “we have a rebellion to plan and a despot to overthrow.” He bit down, making Darcy moan a little.   
  
She grabbed at the hand around her waist, still staring at Steve. “Mmm. Surely… surely that can wait until tomorrow, at the earliest?”  
  
Suddenly Steve was in front of her, tilting her head back to claim her mouth once more. James lifted his eyes to watch them hungrily.   
  
He waited until they broke apart to say, “You’re absolutely right, love. Which begs the question, what shall we do tonight?”  
  
“Bedroom,” Darcy commanded.   
  
James and Steve were only too happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments make the world go 'round.   
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://bloomsoftly.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments make the world go 'round.


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